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MRS. GEO. P. GOLDIE. 

— 

PRICE, - - 50 CENTS. 

— ^ — 


SIOUX CITY, IOWA : 
GOLDIE BROS. PUBLISHERS 
1895. 



LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS 


-BY- 


MRS. GEO. P. GOLDIE. 



" 3 iDtll gttjc tl]ee tl^e treasures of barKness, anb l^tbben rict|es of 

secret places.’’ 


SIOUX CITY, IOWA : 
GOLDIE BROS. PUBLISHERS. 
1895. 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1895, 
Mrs. Geo. P. Goldie, 
in the office of the Librarian of Congress. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS, 


CHAPTER 1. 

One of the marvelous phases of modern social 
development in the United States is the wonderful 
growth and prosperity of our western towns and 
cities, and the prejudice so long existing in the east 
regarding the populace west of the Mississippi river 
is rapidly giving way to admiration and amazement 
for the thrift and energy which have brought about 
such unprecedented results. 

A little less than forty 3 ^ears ago the greater portion 
of Iowa was still an unknown wilderness, not a train 
had entered her fair domain, and the cumbersome 
steamer ploughing the muddy Missouri was the only 
medium by which her western towns kept in touch 
with the outer world. During these four decades 
civilization has superceded barbarism, cultivation 
conquered desolation, and out of a trackless, barren 
prairie has arisen a smiling, prosperous common- 
wealth, dotted with school houses, churches, villages 
and cities, foremost among the latter being Sioux 
City, a leading commercial and railway center, and 










2 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


known throughout the world for her wonderful Corn 
Palaces. 

Considering the rapidity with which we have fol- 
lowed in the moccasin track, it is scarcely surprising 
that in the minds of our eastern neighbors there 
should lurk the supposition that we have imbibed 
somewhat of the barbarous ; still we are pleased to 
note that, through the many inducements to travel, 
this belief is gradually being eliminated. 

The incidents herein to be narrated have tran- 
spired in or near Sioux City, which from the first, 
when but a few log cabins graced the spot where 
now stands the world-renowned Corn Palace city, 
claimed her quota of cultured and refined citizens. 

Volumes might be written in eulogiumof that noble 
band of pioneers who were active factors in the con- 
tinuous chain of events requisite in the building of a 
great and prosperous city, and their deeds of self- 
denial deserve a better interpretation than has ever 
yet been accorded them, since the achievements of 
that transitional epoch prepared and facilitated those 
of today. 

Foremost among those who were instrumental in 
bringing to this locality the first gleams of literary 
and artistic taste was Henry Carl^de, an ardent 
young attorney, who, through his own energy and 
perseverance, became eminently successful. Not only 
was he an able lawyer^ bearing the esteem of the 
entire legal fraternity of the state, but an active, 
public spirited man. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS, 


3 


Mr. Carl^^le had been at Sioux City some ten years 
before he met Miss Edith Sinclair of Cleveland, Ohio, 
who became his wife. Never was there a more ideal 
union. In mind, hope and asperations they were 
truly congenial. She could follow him into his realm 
of thought, while both cherished those elegant tastes 
born of an innate love for the beautiful, which gave 
to their charming little home a sense of restfulness 
and repose. The most thoughtful care, the tenderest 
sympathy, existed between them, and though neces- 
sarily exposed to many inconveniences and discom- 
forts, the charm of mutual confidence dispelled all 
minor grievances. 

Still, though enjoying the fullness of contentment 
in each other^s society, they did not forget their obli- 
gations to the growing social life around them. Sioux 
City was fortunate in having these two among her 
early settlers, for while Mr. Carlyle took an active 
interest in every public enterprise for the improve- 
ment of the little town, his wife endeared herself to 
all with whom she came in contact. She was deli- 
cately beautiful, and in her refined gentleness so win- 
ning, so tender and sympathetic, that her friends 
sometimes wondered by what chance so delicate a 
plant had been transported to this rugged climate. 
And yet, while seemingly so frail, she possessed an 
ardent nature and was ever strong in heart and hope. 

In time their home became the nucleus around 
which centered the cultured element of the little com- 
munity, and in its refined atmosphere many a home- 


4 LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 

sick heart alienated from early associations discov- 
ered that life, even in a western frontier town, need 
not necessarily be devoid of those opportunities 
which enrich the intellect and satisfy the ideals of the 
heart, but may unfold and develop into the highest 
and noblest existence. 

Thus the years rolled by swiftly and happily for this 
loving pair, and on the eighth anniversary of their 
marriage we find them much more pleasantly en- 
vironed. The little one-story frame structure has 
been discarded for a more pretentious dwelling on 
Plateau Hill, surrounded by a beautiful lawn and 
shade trees. It is summer, and a hammock swings 
idly in the breeze. Two beautiful little girls — one a 
baby of two summers and the other four years of 
age — are tumbling in the grass, while their mother sits 
on the piazza, book in hand, but evidently more inter- 
ested in thegambols of her children than in the printed 
page before her. 

Mr. Carlyle was fully justified in building this com- 
fortable home for his wife and little ones, as he has 
now a large law business in both the state and fed- 
eral courts, and is rapidly advancing on the road to 
fame. He was offered the nomination pf state sena- 
tor, and has frequently been mentioned b}" the press 
for the position of district judge, but he steadfastly 
refuses to be a candidate for any office. All his hopes 
of future emolument are centered in his chosen pro- 
fession, and no inducements, however flattering, 
can prevail upon him to hazard his present sphere 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


5 


of useful activity for political uncertainty. 

The struggles and hardships incident to frontier life 
are rapidly changing to a reminiscence, and through 
the magic touch of western enterprise the little town 
has become a prosperous young city. Several trains 
enter daily, while systems of public lighting and water 
supply, and even a street railway service, are among 
the luxuries recently added. 

To all of these enterprises Mr. Carlyle has given the 
benefit of his superior ability and legal experience. 
Though not a politician he nevertheless exerts his 
influence in behalf of the city’s highest and truest 
development. 

With clients as well as friends Mr. Carlyle is ever . 
genial and affable but withal firm, a man one would 
not hesitate to choose as a counselor and guide in 
any case of doubt or perplexity. And if you would 
know whether this record harmonizes with his home 
life you have but to look into the tranquil face of his 
beautiful wife, and seeing the peace and happiness 
written there you will know at once that she is still 
the object of his tender devotion. 

At this moment she is watching for him, as it is 
near the luncheon hour. One of the little girls seeing 
a horse and phaeton in the distance calls out : 

'‘Papa is coming ! Papa is coming !” 

But it proves to be not papa, but the family phy- 
sician, who drives up, fastens his horse, and walks 
into the yard. 

Mrs. Carlyle rises and greets him by saying: “^Vhy 


6 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


doctor, haven’t yon made a mistake? You see we 
are all well.” Then, noting his expression, she adds 
quickly, “Or can it be that Mr. Carlyle is sick ?” 

“That is why I have called, Mrs. Carlyle, but I 
trust you will not be unduly alarmed. Your husband 
has met with an accident, but so far as I can judge 
at present, is not seriousl}^ injured.” 

“ But where is he, doctor, where is he ? I must go 
to him at once.” 

“They are bringing him home and I hastened to 
prepare you, as so much will depend upon your forti- 
tude. He is unconscious now, still I think will soon 
be himself again.” 

“But what has happened, doctor? You have not 
told me how he was hurt.” , 

“His horse became frightened and threw him from 
the vehicle. But come, I will tell you all while we are 
preparing a bed for him. They will be here in a few 
moments.” 

Mrs. Carlyle reluctantly enters the house and leads 
the way up to a large air\" room. She is quivering 
with fear and excitement, which she strives bravely 
to suppress. Though barely able to stand she gives 
the needed directions while the good old doctor busies 
himself with the bed. When all is in readiness he 
advises her to remain there until his return, then 
going down gives instructions to the servant to take 
the children where they cannot see their father 
brought in. 

When at last the helpless form is gently laid upon 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 7 

the bed, it is with difficulty that the doctor restrains 
Mrs. Carlyle from throwing her arms about her hus- 
band’s neck. 

“Only tell me,” she pleads, “do you think he will 
live ? Oh, he looks as though he were dead now !” 

“No, he is merely unconscious, and I think his 
symptoms are favorable. But a great deal will depend 
upon you, so please trv to compose yourself. I have 
sent for a competent nurse, and will remain with you 
until she comes. You must save your energies for 
when he awakes, as he will need your smiles to bring 
him back to health and strength.” 

So this tender little woman who has scarcely known 
a sorrow nerves herself heroically for what may be 
in store for her. But she cannot be persuaded to leave 
the room, only once going down to see the children, 
and finding them safe she returns again to await the 
first ray of consciousness. 

Thus the hours drag along wearily, and when by 
night there is no apparent change, the doctor, now 
seriously alarmed, calls in a brother physician and 
applies new remedies. 

Once there is a quivering of the eyelids, the lips 
move as if about to speak, but in another moment 
the patient drifts into slumber again. 

At ten o’clock the doctor is obliged to leave, but 
promises to return as soon as possible. An hour 
later Mrs. Carlyle, kneeling by the bedside, hears her 
name in the faintest whisper. Looking up she finds 
her husband endeavoring to raise his head, and 


8 LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 

gazing at her with a look of infinite tenderness. 

“Edith, my poor Edith,’’ he moans, and sinks back 
upon the pillow. The tone more than the words seem 
to carry her into the future — a dark, sunless future to 
be lived without him, and her whole soul cries out 
against this cruel separation. 

“Henry! Henry! You are not going to leave me! 
Oh, it is cruel ! It is wrong ! It is hard ! ’’ 

But even as she is pleading those fond lips which 
but this morning pressed hers, are sealed forever; 
those dear hands whose touch was so gentle are 
becoming rigid ; and never, never again on earth will 
those tender eyes gaze lovingly into hers. 

Instinctively she realizes that the end has come, and 
in helpless, speechless anguish sinks beside the lifeless 
form. 

Oh, Power invisible, who can fathom thy inscruta- 
ble decrees ? Again we are confronted by an awful 
mystery. A noble career is suddenly brought to 
naught, an ideal union is shattered, and she for whom 
life seemed so full of promise feels the darkness of an 
unknown night closing around her. 

Father, we cannot understand, help us not to be 
bitter or rebellious, and in thine infinite mercy give 
us strength to pray. 




LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 9 

CHAPTER II. 

Twelve years have passed since the silent Reaper 
entered that home on Plateau Hill and took from its 
happy circle the one who it seemed could least be 
spared. Again we see the angelic face of Mrs. Car- 
lyle, not despairing now, but trustful, for a calm has 
come to that aching heart and peace has been attained 
at last. 

During the first months of her bereavement the 
sweet mourner shed no tears in her silent and sub- 
missive grief, and her friends entertained fears for her 
reason. But the clinging arms of her darlings saved 
her from despair and brought her back to life and 
hope. Then a new light broke forth whose rays 
reached beyond the tomb, a voice from heaven whis- 
pered peace, and that sacred sorrow which had 
wrung her heart in anguish became the touchstone 
revealing her inner spiritual nature. Her soul, at 
first groping in darkness, but gradually unfolding 
toward its Creator, became radiant with heaven’s 
own light. 

And now, though there are moments when mem- 
ories of the happy past probe her unspoken grief, 
when a tender sadness creeps into those beautiful eyes 
and hovers about the sensitive lips, the sweet smile 
invariably returns, and in her great endeavor to 
meet the needs of her loved ones she stifles the deep 
wants of her own heart. 


10 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


These objects of her tender care and solicitude are 
now fast blooming into womanhood, and Mrs. Car- 
l\de feels that her responsibility is gathering strength 
with the years. The contrast between these dark- 
eyed maidens and their fair little mother is peculiarly 
striking. In fact their features would scarcely reveal 
the relationship which the name implies, and only 
Helen, the younger, has inherited her mother^s gentle 
disposition. 

But despite this dissimilarity, their young hearts 
beat in unison with hers, and when the fond mother 
notes how readily their tears and smiles respond to 
her own, she realizes that God has not left her 
desolate. 

Gertrude, now sixteen, is her father’s second self, 
with a nature at once winning and aggressive, whose 
sensitive heart can swell with gratitude or burn with 
indignation, and whose fiery, impatient soul can be 
elevated to rapture or plunged into despair. 

Mrs. Carlyle well remembers her husband’s refer- 
ences to a struggle with an almost unconquerable 
temper, and she knows, too, how successfully he had 
emerged from the conflict, how the restless, rebellious 
nature had been brought under subjection, and made 
the nobler for that element of strength. 

But how would it be with Gertrude, poor Gertrude, 
who could be charmed into gentleness only after the 
cyclonic violence of her feelings had spent itself? 
Would she wrestle with self and prevail, as her father 
had done ? 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 11 

These are some of the questions which the consci- 
entious mother asks herself when looking into the 
future. But then comes the reassuring thought that 
the generous impulses and tender conscience which 
form a part of that complex nature must eventually 
exert their influence in the development of her child’s 
character. 

At present an ominous cloud is hovering over the 
little home which threatens soon to dCvScend upon our 
group of three, and as usual, though it concerns all, 
Gertrude is the most despairing, while Mrs. Carlyle 
and Helen well nigh forget the cloud in their efforts 
to appease the former. 

It will be remembered that Mr. Carlyle at the time 
of his death was fast becoming a prosperous man. 
But through that merciless veil which hides the 
future he could not foresee the sudden cessation of his 
income, and in his great desire to invest the new home 
and its surroundings with that degree of comfort and 
quiet elegance formerly enjoyed by his wife, he de- 
pended upon the .future for an increase in his bank 
account. Hence it happened that the poor widow 
was not long in discovering that in order to main- 
tain and educate her children she must find some 
source of revenue. 

For sometime, however, she gave but little thought 
to this feature of her sorrow, and but for the thought- 
ful care of an only brother might have lost what little 
property was left her outside her home. 

Mr. Leo. Sinclair, the brother in question, in com- 


12 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


ing west to attend the funeral of his brother-in-law^ 
was so favorably impressed with Sioux Cit}^ that he 
soon returned with his family and made this his 
home. 

Mrs. Sinelair, his wife, is a dear, well-meaning soul, 
who always sees what other people ought to do, and 
wonders why they invariably act so differently, and 
if occasion requires does not hesitate to proffer her 
advice to those whom she deems in need of such 
assistance. When, therefore, six months had gone by 
and the heart-broken widow had made no apparent 
change in her mode of living, Mrs. Sinclair thought 
it advisable to interfere, and began by telling her hus- 
band that if Edith did not soon become aware of her 
real position some one ought to speak to her. 

And in his usual quiet way Mr. Sinclair had asked 
her what she would suggest. 

‘‘Well, I have several plans in view,'' his wife res- 
ponded. “I am sure she had better have some occu- 
pation to take her mind from herself. Does she never 
speak of her financial affairs to you? " 

, “ Yes, she has about decided to borrow money on 
her home to build two tenement houses on her lots 
on Pierce street. You know houses are in great de- 
mand now, and I hardly know how she could do 
much better just at present." 

“ What a pit}^ ! Put a mortgage on her home and 
doubtless lose it in the end. Why doesn’t she make 
use of some of those elegant rooms and board a few 
of the teachers ? Miss Bailey and her assistant would 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


13 


be delighted to get a home with a private family.’’ 

“Why, Clarinda, yoti know poor Edith is not well 
'enough for such an undertaking. She hopes when she 
gets stronger to give a few music lessons.” 

“Well, that is all very fine,” retorted his wife, “and 
I hope wilk prove successful, but for my part I should 
rather work a little harder now than give up my 
home later.” And here the conversation ended. 

In due time the houses were built, and for several 
years the revenue derived from these proved sufficient 
for the wants of the little family, besides paying off 
a part of the mortgage, and had property continued 
to increase in value as it had been, or even remained 
as it was, all might have been well, but suddenh^ as 
if by magic, came that financial stringency by which 
so many families, not only in Sioux City but else- 
where, lost their all. Rents decreased, while taxes, with 
that perversity so natural to them, became enormous. 

By this time Mrs. Carlyle’s daughters had arrived 
at that age when she could take them into her confi- 
dence, and it was finally decided, after careful consid- 
eration, to give up the much valued privacy, together 
with a few of their rooms, and thus increase their 
income. This plan also proved successful until a few 
weeks ago, since which time several of the rooms 
have been vacant. Then, too, one of their tenants 
moved without giving notice, leaving two months’ 
rent unpaid. To crown all, one of the payments on 
the mortgage is due and no possible way has been 
found to pay it. 


14 


LIGHT OUT OP' DARKNESS. 


Mr. Sinclair would gladly assist his sister, but he 
too, has met with reverses and can with difficulty 
retain his own home. 

But the most pathetic feature in the case has not 
been told, and is unknown to Mrs. Carlyle herself, 

Mr. Fuller, who assumed the mortgage on that 
beautiful home, did so with the avowed purpose of 
some time claiming it, as it is the one piece of prop- 
erty of all others which he most covets, and for this 
very reason he has deceived Mrs. Carlyle by repeated 
assurances of friendship. In fact the present pa^^ment 
was due nearlj^ two years ago, but he extended the 
time with the assertion that Mrs. Carhde should not 
allow it to cause her any uneasiness. And the latter, 
thinking that if the worst came she could sell the 
other houses and at least retain the home, did not 
anticipate any trouble. But under the present stress 
it is impossible to sell at any price, and that which 
Mr. Fuller has looked forward to and hoped for, has 
come to pass. 

Thus the cloud previously rrientioned is gradually 
augmenting in volume and power, allowing but an 
occasional gleam of sunlight to penetrate into the 
little home. 

At this critical juncture, while the payment of the 
mortgage is still an unsolved problem, although Mr. 
Fuller has announced his intention of foreclosing 
unless it is made at once, Mrs. Sinclair calls to spend 
the afternoon with her sister-in-law. They discuss 
every subject but the one nearest the widow’s heart. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 15 

though her visitor’s mind is evidently charged with 
some idea which she is unable to put into words. 

At last, however, when apparently most preoccu- 
pied with the garment before her, she finds courage 
to say: “I wonder if Gertrude would be willing to 
give up her school, if she were certain of getting eight 
dollars a week ? ” 

Mrs. Carlyle looks at her in a dazed kind of way as 
if unable to comprehend, 

“Please do not look that way, Edith. I know 
your heart as well as Gertrude’s is set upon her be- 
coming a teacher, but you know Earl was obliged to 
give up his education to go into a store.” 

“Yes, I often think of Earl. How brave he is, and 
how hard it must be for him to give up all his hopes. 
But did you mean to say you know of such a position 
for Gertrude ? ” 

“ Yes, I have known of one for some time, but could 
not prevail upon myself to tell you. Only yesterday 
Mr. Roberts asked me if I had tried to induce my 
niece to come to him. You know he has the finest 
store in the city.” 

“I am sure that under the circumstances we should 
be grateful for such an offer, ” says Mrs. Carlyle, “but 
you know Gertrude expects to graduate in three 
months, and then begin her career as teacher by 
taking a school in the country for the summer. It 
would be the bitterest disappointment for her to be 
deprived of that hope.” 

“Of course it would be to all of us, ’’ returns the other, 


16 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


“Leo would be quite as broken-hearted about it as 
you. But what are we to do, Edith? If some of us 
do not begin to be practical, what is to become of 
us?” 

“You are right, Clarinda; I know your intentions 
are always good. I will speak to Gertrude, and per- 
haps she will not feel quite so bitter about it as I 
fear.” 

That evening, while our trio is quietly occupied 
with book and needle, Mrs. Carlyle, as kindly as pos- 
sible, gives Gertrude her aunt’s message. Though 
the words are freighted with a mother’s love and 
anxiety, they have the effect of a bomb thrown at 
Gertrude’s feet. 

Bounding from her chair, she stands transfixed, her 
eyes flashing fire, as if preparing to defend herself 
against an innumerable host instead of the two so 
dear to her. 

“Gertie, dear, ’’says Helen, “if your future scholars 
could see you now, they would all shout in chorus : 

‘ Go to Mr. Robert’s store, by all means.’ ” 

“ Oh ! How can you make fun of me, Helen ?” and 
sinking into her chair Gertrude sobs aloud. 

“There, there, Gertie; please forgive me,” and in 
an instant her sister is beside her. “ Of course we are 
not going to have you give up your school, are we 
mama? ” 

“But what shall we do? Aunty is right; what is 
to become of us? ” 

Since the question is brought home so forcibly to 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


17 


them, they give up the rest of the evening to its 
discussion without, however, coming to any definite 
conclusion. 

The next day, by mutual consent, the skeleton is 
again hidden, and on the third morning Gertrude 
goes singing to school. She has thought of a plan, 
and that afternoon informs her mother that it is her 
intention to go to Mr. Fuller, tell him how they are 
situated, and ask him to extend the loan. 

Mrs. Carlyle demurs, but when Gertrude is very 
much in earnest she finds it difficult to reason with 
her, and so wishing her well, allows her to go. 

Gertrude considers her task comparatively easy 
until she finds herself in a crowded building, where 
she is jostled through groups of men into a small 
office. Then one glance at its solitary occupant 
makes her wish herself safely at home. 

Though raising his head for an instant from his 
paper to note her entrance, Mr. Fuller utterly ignores 
her presence, until she bravely goes up to him and 
says : 

“ You are Mr. Fuller, I believe? 

‘‘I am,^’ comes out of the zero of ungraciousness. 

“I am Gertrude Carlyle, and you must be the gen- 
tleman who has a mortgage on my mother’s prop- 
erty.” 

“ I suppose you have come to pay that hundred and 
fifty dollars,” as though he did not relish the idea. 

“No, sir ; I regret to say we are not able to pay the 
money, and have come to speak to you about it.” 


18 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


A quick, triumphant smile for a moment distorts 
the already repulsive features, but the voice loses 
none of its grulfness when he says : 

“Well, since you can’t pay me, I suppose that vSet- 
tles it ; what else can there be to talk about ? “ 

Gertrude’s fingers tingle in her desire to shake him 
out of his self-assurance, but she controls herself suf- 
ficiently to tell him of their loss and their present cir- 
cumstances ; also how she expects soon to earn some 
money herself, with which she intends to pay him all. 

“So you expect to teach, when you can’t tell your 
scholars the first principles in business. How long 
do you think it would take my business to run into 
the ground if I allowed my feelings to run away with 
me every time a mortgage is to be foreclosed ? ’’ 

If he expects an answer to this, he is not disap- 
pointed, but fails to see just how it applies to his 
question. 

Gertrude, who knows no moderate emotion, says: 
“Sir, I have been told that you are a hypocrite, but 
did not believe it. Last evening I went to the church 
where you attend, in the hope of seeing you and gain- 
ing courage to come here to-day, and when you made 
that beautiful prayer it went straight to my heart 
and I was grieved to find that people had wronged 
you so. But I begin to think now that they were 
right, and that you are not what you profess to be, 
but ^hypocrite ! ’’ And before Mr. Fuller can look up 
she has disappeared. 

Nerved up now for anything, she goes directly to 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


19 


her aunt, and surprises that lady by telling her to 
inform Mr. Roberts that she will be at his store Mon- 
day morning. 

That evening Gertrude throws down her book, says 
good-night and starts for her room. 

“ Gertrude, my child, will you not wait for prayers?’’ 
asks her mother sorrowfully. 

“No, mama; I’m hardened. This morning I be- 
lieved that my prayer was to be answered. To-night 
I see my dream of a school vanish, our dear home 
possibly to follow, and myself behind a counter the 
rest of my life. No, mama, I can’t pray to-night !” 

Poor little mother. This is the bitterest drop. 
What is the loss of home compared to the loss of her 
child’s faith?— that bright, beautiful faith which 
through all the sorrow had shed its rays into their 
lives. But no ! she will not give up, too, surely there 
will be some way out of this as there had been through 
all other trials. 

The next morning a gloomy silence prevails at 
breakfast, the noon hour brings no change, and at 
four Gertrude goes directly to her room. Here, in a 
short time, her mother finds her listlessly gazing out 
of the window. Gently caressing the pretty brown 
head, she asks, “Is my child still without confi- 
dence ?” 

“Oh, mama, don’t ask me. I begin to believe peo- 
ple are right in saying we imagine answers to our 
prayers.” 

“ My dear child, I am grieved to find that the trial 


20 




LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 

of your faith has found you wanting. It makes me 
tremble for your future. But I also rejoice to be able 
this time to dispel your illusion. Your prayer has 
been answered. You are not obliged to give up ^^our 
school, and our home for the present is secure.” 

In a twinkling Gertrude’s arms are around her 
mother’s neck. “Oh! mama, and I have been so 
rebellious. How little I deserve this.” 

But what has turned the scales in their favor? That 
afternoon three young men with good references 
called to see the rooms, and without much ado de- 
cided to take the two. Shortly after their departure 
one of them returned, desiring a few words with Mrs. 
Carlyle. He informed her that he was employed in 
Mr. Fuller’s office and consequently overheard Ger- 
trude the day before, and that his object in returning 
was to ask if she were willing to receive a sufficient 
sum in advance for the rooms to pay the loan. 

With just a touch of dignity in her voice and man- 
ner, Mrs. Carlyle hesitated in accepting the generous 
offer. But the young man, not insensible to the more 
delicate shades of feeling, continued : 

“ Please allow me to explain, Mrs. Carlyle, and try 
to forget that I am a stranger. For some time my 
indignation has been aroused by the cool, deliberate 
manner in which Mr. Fuller has searched documents 
and collected proof whereby he expects in the near 
future to lay claim to this piece of property, which he 
knows must soon increase in value. Now, knowing 
the facts as I do, can you wonder, Mrs. Carlyle, that 


1.IGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 21 

I should desire to assist in frustrating so diabolical 
a scheme?’’ 

Mrs. Carhde, greatly shocked at the revelation 
made by the young man, asked him if it was not 
barely possible that he was mistaken as to Mr. Ful- 
ler’s intentions. 

“I am not surprised at your incredulity, Mrs. Car- 
lyle,” he responded quickly, ‘‘for with the evidence 
before me it was difficult to believe that he could be 
so base, but in order to convince you if possible that 
he is as grasping as I have represented him to be, I 
will tell you what it certainly was not my intention 
to reveal when I came. Yesterday, when your daugh- 
ter left, I went to him and offered to pay the loan. 
The color at once left his face, and his voice and eyes 
displayed the extreme of anger when he said, ‘Young 
man, if you do I will discharge you ! ’ Of course he 
had no more than uttered the words when he realized 
how foolish they were. But your daughter, in so 
fearlessly telling him the truth, had deprived him for 
the time of his presence of mind.” 

“I am sorry Gertrude was not better able to con- 
trol herself,” said Mrs. Carlyle. 

“And I was never so glad of an^^thing in my life,” 
returned he. 

This part of the conversation, however, Mrs. Car- 
lyle omits in relating the circumstance to Gertrude, 
and in answering her numerous questions, concludes 
by saying : 

“Yes, dear, the young man expects to leave Mr. 


22 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS, 


Fuller’s employ, but assures me he has better pros- 
pects in view. His card bears the name, ‘ Charles 
Pirie.’ ” 

And now with heart uplifted and hope renewed^ 
this happy girl once more resumes her studies, and 
during the next three months gives herself upentirel}^ 
to them. She has many warm friends among her 
schoolmates, but only her bosom companion, May 
Benton, enjoys her full confidence, and knows of the 
goal for which she is so earnestly striving, for May 
and Gertrude made each other’s acquaintance while 
still in their mother’s arms, and since then have 
scarcely known a day in which they were not privil- 
edged to enjoy each other’s society. They have thus 
been enabled to form an enduring friendship — a friend- 
ship which proves a blessing to each through life. 

One day near the close of the term, while the two 
friends are returning from school. May, as if about 
to relieve her mind of some great burden, suddenly 
exclaims, “Gertie, do you know you are almost cruel 
in your treatment of Mr. Pirie? ” 

“Why, May Benton, what an implication for you to 
make. Whatever put such an idea into your head? ” 
“ Well, I can scarcely help seeing what is transpiring 
before me. Ever since Mr. Pirie came you have 
seemed almost unconscious of his existence, and yes- 
terday when he thought no one was near I saw him 
watching you with the saddest look on his face.” 

“You dear little preacher,” says Gertrude, amused 
at her friend’s serious tone. “Why, May, you are 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 23 

^actually blushing! Mr. Pirie will be in good care 
when I am gone.” 

” Oh, Gertie, and you expect to go in a week. What 
shall I do without you? ” 

” Amuse yourself with Mr. Pirie, my dear. But 
here we are, so au re voir for this time. You know 
how busy I am this week.” Then, as May turns to 
go, she adds, ‘‘Don’t forget the rehearsal to-night. 
Will you call for me ? ” 

May agrees to do so, and Gertrude bounds into the 
house, where she soon becomes engrossed in the 
preparations which for several days have enlivened 
the little home, for in three days our Gertrude expects 
to graduate, and in as many more take charge of her 
first school. 

She does not disappoint the hopes of teachers and 
friends on that auspicious occasion, wdben she is 
awarded with her diploma and a shower of flowers. 
Then, all too soon, pass the intervening days, and one 
bright morning finds her spinning across the open 
prairie. 

And now, for the first time, Gertrude knows what 
it is to be parted from those so dear to her, and 
though about to realize the fulfillment of her long 
cherished desire it is nevertheless with a heavy heart 
that she arrives at the station where Mr. Winter, the 
director, is to meet her. 

The conductor helps her off, her trunk is placed on 
the platform, then the bell rings, and the train is 
again in motion. 


24 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


Gertrude looks about her. For miles and miles not 
a living thing is to be seen but that rapidly departing 
train. 

“Oh, come back! Come back I Don't leave me 
here alone," finally bursts from her lips. 

At this inopportune moment the station master, 
coming round a corner of the building, faces a young 
girl with brimming eyes, and hands imploringly 
stretched toward the distant train. 

In an instant Gertrude changes her attitude, but 
the wonderment written on the man’s face is too 
much for her keen sense of the ludicrous, and she 
greets him with a peel of laughter. 

Having thus completely dumb-founded him, they 
stare at each other, she wondering if he has lost his 
senses, and he equally uncomplimentary in thinking, 
“Sure, an "she’s gone clean daft." 

But, fortunately, Gertrude suddenly remembers that 
she is now a teacher. Bringing her brightest smile 
into play she says sweetly, “Excuse me, sir, for laugh- 
ing. I do not wonder you were surprised at finding 
me in such a position, but I felt so utterly alone to 
see all visible life disappearing with that train. I 
expected Mr. Winter to meet me here. Could \^ou 
tell me how far it is to his house ? " 

Thus reavssured, her companion advises her to wait. 
Then looking up and pointing toward the east, he 
tells her the director is coming. Gertrude, straining 
her eyes to the utmost, can discern but a speck in the 
distance. Gradually, however, this takes on greater 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


25 


dimensions, and ere long proves to be the object 
desired. By and by she and her trunk are bundled 
into the great lumbering wagon, and the large, well- 
fed horses turn their heads homeward. 

Mr. Winter being a reticent man, gives her thoughts 
ample opportunity to fly in advance of the plodding 
team. Of course the family will be anxiously await- 
ing the teacher’s coming,” she thinks. What is her 
surprise, therefore, as they drive into the yard, to see 
a desolate, closed house, and hear Mr. Winter say, in 
the coolest tone imaginable : 

“They’re all gone to the horse race, but will be 
home pretty quick to get supper.” 

Was this the welcome she had pictured to herself, 
when, with such eagerness she longed to begin her 
work ? This poor, spoiled girl, whose every wish had 
been anticipated by a loving mother and fond sister. 
Add to this the fact that she must now hide her feel- 
ings, instead of giving expression to them, as she had 
never hesitated to do at home, and we can readily 
imagine the strain put upon her. 

The farmer takes her into the large, silent sitting- 
room, and goes back to his horses. 

Fortunately she is not left long to herself, for in a 
short time Mrs. Winter, her two daughters and son, 
return from the race, the former saying she had hoped 
to get back before the teacher came, and adding, 
“ Now, make yourself at home, while me and the girls 
get supper.” 

When called to that repast, Gertrude begs to be 


26 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


excused on the plea of headache, but Mrs. Winter 
insists on her taking at least a cup of tea. 

After supper Mr. Winter settles down to his pipe, 
then his wife brings out a box of tobacco and another 
pipe. Instinctively Gertrude looks around for the 
second man when, horror of horrors ! Mrs. Winter 
puts the pipe to her own lips, leans forward, and 
comfortably placing an elbow on each knee, begins 
to examine the new teacher. 

It would be impossible to convey in words the 
disgust and abhorrence aroused in Gertrude by this 
proceeding, while with the best of her little store of 
dignity, she tries to answer the questions, and as 
soon as consistent asks to go to her room. 

When at last alone in this little haven, the inevita- 
ble explosion follows. Oh ! I can^t stay here ! Ican’t 
stay here! Think of it, a woman smoking! a wo- 
man ! ’’ And no longer able to sit still she walks sev- 
eral times across the floor. Then seeing her valise, 
the only familiar object remaining with her, she goes 
to it and almost reverently examines its contents. 

A mother^s thoughtfulness, in anticipation of this 
hour, has omitted nothing, and now, as Gertrude 
takes up her little bible, she finds in it a sheet of paper 
containing these sweet words : 

“My Dear Child : Though you will be miles awa}^ 
and among strangers when you read this, be assured 
that your mother’s thoughts and sympathies will be 
with you in your struggle with homesickness. Try 
to overcome it, dear, and for my sake be brave, as I 
have reason to believe you can be. Remember that 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


27 


He who has said ‘ Let not your heart be troubled ^ is 
there as well as here. And now good-night ; go to 
sleep, that you may be bright in the morning to begin 
your glorious work. Your loving 

Mother.^' 

With tears of gratitude Gertrude folds the little 
missive. ‘‘Dear, sweet mama; how well you have 
read my heart, which I had never supposed could be 
so heavy as it is to-night. But you have given me 
strength ; yes, for your dear sake I can, and I will be 
brave. 


28 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 




CHAPTER III. 

The next morning when Gertrude comes down all 
seems so changed. The large sitting-room is flooded 
with sunshine, the obnoxious pipe is out of sights 
while without the twittering birds and rural scener^^ 
appeal to her love for the beautiful in nature. To her 
the simplest flower is cause for rejoicing, and now, in 
going through Mrs. Winter^s prettily arranged flower- 
beds, she feels that she has been unjust to her. 

This new current of feeling enables her to greet that 
lady with such a sunny countenance at breakfast 
that the latter is forced to change her opinion of the 
new ‘‘school-marm.^’ 

Long before the appointed hour Gertrude and the 
two girls, Mary and Anna Winter, stroll down to the 
pretty little white school-house. 

and by the scholars arrive from all directions, 
some boldly staring at the new teacher, others so 
shy that they do not dare to raise their eyes. 

But now suppose we ask the question. Does this 
vacillating girl of seventeen, this creature of impulse, 
possess the qualities befitting a good teacher? 

Let us not be unreasonably premature in our judg- 
ment. Is she not thoroughly imbued with the desire 
to succeed ? Then, too, in order to meet the require- 
ments of so responsible a position, she keeps herself 
well informed, and endeavors to read only those 
books which induce elevation of mind. The benefit 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


29 


derived from these, however, is slight compared with 
that she receives from her own great earnestness and 
keen intuition ; qualities which many a professor 
might covet. 

Her earnest, prayerful endeayor will scale many 
difficulties ; while her intuitive sympathy will enable 
her to discover the individual needs of her scholars. 

Do we not find much here which, by the touch of a 
spring, may bring forth untold good, and foresee 
many little victories, as well as disappointments, for 
this ardent little teacher ? 

That evening Gertrude, returning to her room, finds 
a beautiful, fresh bouquet. The sweet blossoms re- 
mind her of home and similar surprises planned by 
her mother, and she never forgets the little act of 
kindness. 

The repugnance caused by that dreadful pipe is fast 
disappearing, though for many days Gertrude reso- 
lutely avoids the sitting-room during certain hours. 
At such times she frequently strolls through the 
pretty little garden of flowers, wondering how the 
desire to bring forth these exquisite formations can 
leave any room for the other vulgar longing. 

Gradually, as the days go by, Gertrude becomes 
more and more impressed with the importance of her 
undertaking, and begins to realize that fully as much 
as for those under her, is it to be a time of discipline 
for herself. By degrees, as the scholars reveal their 
various moods and motives, some gently touching 
the fibres of her affection, others coldly distant as if 


30 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


defying her authority, it becomes especially difficult 
for her to prevent those little outbursts of feeling so 
natural to her, and to refrain from showing prefer- 
ences. 

One day, when unusually tried by one of the unruly, 
she startles the little offender by a few hasty words, 
and in consequence is unhappy the rest of the day. 
That evening, in glancing through one of her books, 
she suddenly comes to these words, “In silence and 
confidence shall be your strength.” No other words 
could so forcibly have impressed themselves upon her 
mind at that time. 

The next morning, having copied the little note of 
warning, she fastens it in a corner of her desk, and 
many times after, when sorely tempted, a glance at 
those words has the desired effect of sealing her lips. 

Thus, in many ways, is this brave girl daily school- 
ing herself and winning the love of her scholars. 

We do not deny, however, that she has her moments 
of discouragement — moments, too, when she fondly 
pictures the dear ones at home. At such times her 
heart goes out to them with a longing which can 
only find relief in tears. These, however, are but 
April showers, which pass as quickly as they come, 
leaving the sky brighter and clearer for their coming, 
like those beautiful mornings which find her going 
down the pretty lane, wondering how, with all this 
wealth of sunshine, birds and flowers, one can ever be 
unhappy. 

While we have lingered in the country, Gertrude ^s 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 31 

bright, sparkling letters have come like meteoric 
flashes into the home in the city. 

Mrs. Carlyle, endeavoring to make her home a 
home for her roomers, often urges them not to con- 
fine themselves exclusively to their own rooms. We 
are not surprised, therefore, one evening to find in the 
cheerful little parlor Mr. Pirie reading, Helen and Mr. 
Vaughn looking over some music, and Mrs. Carlyle 
sewing. 

Presently there is a rap at the door and pretty May 
Benton walks into the room. While Mr. Pirie offers 
her a chair, she exclaims : 

“I have just received the dearest letter from Gertie, 
and what do you think she has been doing now ? 

“Breaking the old lady’s pipe,” ventures Mr. Pirie. 

“Teaching her pet horse to leap a fence,’’ suggests 
Helen . 

“You naughty people, you scarcely deserve to have 
me tell you now. She is organizing a Sunday school. 
There is no church within ten miles of Mr. Winter’s 
house, so last week she sent written invitations to 
all the parents asking them to bring their children to 
the school house the Sunday following, to spend an 
hour with her in reading the bible, and with one 
exception they all came. But you shall have the con- 
clusion of her letter in her own words.” 

“ ‘ Dear May, you cannot imagine my surprise and 
disappointment on discovering the ignorance of these 
people in regard to the bible. Think of us sending 
money to China and India for the conversion of the 




32 LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 

heathen, who, bless their hearts, are not to blame for 
being born so, when within a few hundred miles of 
us there are children who stare at you in open- 
mouthed wonder if you ask them who Christ is, and 
seem completely bewildered when requested to repeat 
the Lord's Prayer. 

‘If you receive your letter first, please tell mama 
to send me our old stored-away hymn books, and if 
you have or know of an\^ to spare will \^ou do the 
same ? ’ " 

“ Bravo ! for our Gertie," says Helen. “ Who would 
have supposed she possessed the courage for such an 
undertaking? " 

“ Perhaps you had better bring down the books at 
once, Helen, that she may have them by next Sun- 
day," says Mrs. Carlyle, and there are unmistakable 
signs of tears in the mother’s eyes. 

" Wait just a moment, please," says May, as Helen 
is about to comply, "I had another object in calling 
this evening. You know Miss Bailey is about to 
leave us to take a school in St. Paul, so the High 
School girls have decided to give her a farewell recep- 
tion, and I have been commissioned to ask you and 
Mr. Vaughn to sing for us. Now, you won’t refuse, 
will you?" she adds coaxingly while approaching 
Mr. Vaughn, whose expression has changed percep- 
tibly. 

“ 0, but I must. Miss Benton. How can you expect 
a bashful young man to face such a bevy of mischief- 
loving young girls ?’’ 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


33 


“But you will not be obliged to face them if you 
prefer to remain at the instrument. At any rate I 
shall not take no for an answer to-night, but will 
call again in the morning.^’ 

'‘You haven’t even asked my consent,” chimes in 
Helen with an air of injury. 

“0, excuse me, my dear. If I have been so remiss 
it has been because I did not think it possible for 
such a little saint as you to refuse an act of charity.” 

“May, May, such an attempt at flattery, and from 
you ! Well, perhaps if you do not call too early I 
may be able to persuade Mr. Vaughn to rehearse this 
duet with me in the morning. We were looking it 
over when you came in.” 

When May rises to go, Mr. Pirie offers to accom- 
pany her. 

While she has been pleased on several occasions to 
have Mr. Pirie walk home with her, and now and 
then spend an evening at her home, she does not fail 
to perceive that his chief interest in her is in having 
her speak of Gertrude, and she invariably gratifies 
him. 

The next day at noon, Mr. Pirie brings Mrs. Car- 
lyle an armful of hymn books and testaments. Know- 
ing that they were intended for such a purpose, he 
had no difficulty in procuring them from the secretary 
of the Y. M. C. A. As he brought a suitable box with 
them, the entire collection is soon packed, addressed 
and on its way to the express office. 

Gertrude, on receiving this second token of Mr. 


34 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


Pirie’s kindness, immediately obeys the dictates of 
her first impulse and pours forth her gratitude on 
paper; but, unfortunately for that young man, neg- 
lects to seal the little missive, thus subjecting it to a 
second scrutiny, under a different mood. The conse- 
quence is, a sentence modified here, and a word 
changed there, in another note which, when received 
by Mr. Pirie, chills him with its formality. 

A few weeks later our little teacher receives a most 
pleasing offer. Miss Bailey, who is now living in St. 
Paul, assures her a position there if she will join her. 

Gertrude had planned to teach at home the coming 
year, but the hope of having the daily companionship 
and assistance of Miss Bailey is a prospect not easily 
renounced. She therefore writes her mother at once, 
leaving the decision with her. 

The short summer term is now rapidly drawing to 
a close, and she has won the love and gratitude of 
parents as well as scholars, who deeply regret to lose 
her. 

The Sunday school is well organized and bids fair 
to continue even after she is gone. 

On the morning of the last day that Gertrude is to 
be with them she is surprised to find her desk covered 
with flowers, and when the bell rings each scholar in 
passing presents her with some mysterious looking 
package. 

One little girl, greatly distressed in not having a 
parting gift for her teacher, finally found a way out 
of the difficulty. Taking a lock of her own golden 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 35 

hair she fastened it with a knot of blue ribbon to a 
sheet of paper and wrote underneath these words : 

Take this small gift and think of me 
When far apart we both shall be, 

For I shall always think of you ; 

My love for you is pure and true.” 

Of all the tokens Gertrude receives, this is the only 
one which, years later, having found its way among 
her treasures, reminds her of this day, and especially 
recalls the pretty little up-raised, tear-stained face, 
and the scarcely audible words, “This is all I have 
for you.” 

It is a day of gladness, mingled with sadness, for 
Gertrude, and when at last the train bears her away 
her thoughts are equally divided between the little 
white school-house and the dear home where she is 
to be so happy during the next month, for she has 
decided in favor of Miss Bailey and St. Paul. 

A few hours later, however, when approaching the 
city, there remains with her only the anticipation of 
a happy reunion, and when finally she is clasped in a 
mother^s fond embrace, our would-be dignified little 
teacher is once more the tender, loving child. 

“Oh! mama, how many times I have dreamed of 
having your arms about me in this way, and then 
awoke to find myself alone in that lonely room. Sup- 
pose this should prove the same ? ” 

“Come, Gertie,” says Helen, “let me convince you 
that you are awake,” and the next instant Gertrude 
hears the beautiful strains of “Home, Sweet Home.” 


36 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


Since leaving home she has not heard an instrument 
of any kind. Onl^^the music-loving soul, deprived for 
a time as she has been, can understand her emotions 
at this moment. Going up to her sister she begs 
her not to stop, and soon the rich contralto is min- 
gled with the sweet soprano, and then we begin to 
realke how much these sisters have missed each other. 

Think of it, Gertie,” says Helen, as the last tones 
die away, ”T expect soon to be a member of our 
choir. And, by the way, Mr. Vaughn, first tenor of 
the Presbyterian choir, rooms here, and Mr. Stuart 
has a fine bass voice, so we have a complete quartet 
in the house, and Oh! wonT we make it ring now 
that you are here? But come, we have so many 
things to show you,” and linking her arm into her 
sister’s she leads her from room to room. 

To Gertrude, so long deprived of luxuries, and even 
comforts dear to a woman’s heart, the little home 
seems a veritable palace ; and during the next few 
weeks she leads a charmed existence. 

Owing to the sudden illness of Mr. Pirie’s mother, 
that gentleman was called from the cit}^ a few days 
before Gertrude’s return. But she is not allowed to 
forget him. By many a kindly, unobtrusive act he 
has endeared himself to Mrs. Carlyle and won the 
sincere friendship of Helen, and through their eulogies 
his absence becomes a more eloquent advocate of his 
many good qualities than he himself could possibly 
have been. Then, too. May never ceases to sing his 
praises, until at last Gertrude in desperation asks her 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 37 

why, since it is leap-year, she does not propose to this 
wonderful paragon of excellence. 

Was there ever such a short month? Scarcely has 
Gertrude become accustomed to the new regime^ 
when she is again called upon to pack her trunk. 

This second parting, however, has in it less of the 
bitter than the first, in that a dear familiar face is to 
greet her at the end of her journey, and when finally 
Miss Bailey welcomes and introduces her to the new 
home, with its marked evidences of refinement and 
culture, Gertrude makes another comparison between 
this and her first entrance into a strange household. 


38 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A year and several months have elapsed since Ger- 
trude first went to St. Paul, and she is now filling the 
more rCvSponsible position formerly held by Miss 
Bailey. Mrs. Carljde spent the brief spring vacation 
with her daughter, and Gertrude was at home during 
the summer. 

Helen is now teaching in Sioux City, but otherwise 
the little home is not much changed. 

Among the roomers we still recognize Messrs. 
Vaughn and Pirie, and on this particular evening 
these two gentlemen and Helen are enjoying one of 
the most delightful social events of the season, at the 
home of Miss Benton. 

The charming young hostess having received her 
numerous guests now exerts all her energies in behalf 
of their enjoyment. Passing through the brilliant 
rooms to see that none are overlooked, she next gives 
her attention to the special features planned for the 
occasion. As one of these is to be a duet by Clar- 
ence Vaughn and Helen Carlyle, these two interesting 
personages are soon led in triumph to the instrument. 

“I wonder if a wedding may not be among the pos- 
sibilities of the near future?” says a pretty girl in 
blue, indicating by her glance the young couple in 
question. 

“0, haven’t you heard the news, Bertha?” ex- 
claims another. ”Mr. Vaughn is soon to marry a 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


39 


beautiful Minneapolis heiress. Isn’t it a pit}^ when 
he and Miss Carlyle are so congenial in every way ? ” 

“ Why, \’es, I supposed of course they were engaged. 
He seems so fond of her, and is seldom in society 
without her.” 

” Well, as to that, 3^ou know the^^ are in such de- 
mand, and no one thinks of inviting one without the 
other. Then, as they live at the same house, it natur- 
ally follows that — ” 

But at this moment the rich, full tones begin to 
float through the rooms and all conversation is at 
once suspended. Through frequent opportunities for 
practice, and that harmonious blending of their 
voices, Clarence and Helen have acquired a perfection 
seldom equalled, and those hearing them to-night are 
especially favored by a new selection, the exquisite 
rendering of which calls forth the most enthusiastic 
applause. They gracefully yield to the general desire 
for a repetition of the same, and somewhat later, in 
response to numerous requests, contribute the gem 
of the evening, a sweet, pathetic little air, which 
moves their auditor^" to mingled tears and laughter. 

As the merriment increases in the genial atmos- 
phere of this happy home and the joyous overflow of 
youthful hearts, the occasion becomes one long to be 
remembered, and it is with considerable regret that 
the guests finally discover the lateness of the hour 
and begin to disperse. 

When among the last to depart a swarm of chatting, 
laughing maidens in cloaks and furs descend from the 


40 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


rooms above, Clarence as usual awaits Helen at the 
foot of the stairs, and amid good-ni^s^hts, laudations 
and jests, they pass out into the frosty night. 

If there be any premonitory note for our Helen in 
this sudden transition from light into darkness, from 
glowing warmth into chilling frost, she is at this 
moment blissfully unconscious of any such foreshad- 
dowing. But it may serve to interpret her feelings 
on the following morning, when through a letter 
received from Gertrude she is, for the first time, ap- 
prised of that which to us is no longer a secret. 

“I was surprised to learn,’’ writes her sister, “that 
a Miss Van Dyke, whom I met last evening, is en- 
gaged to our Mr. Vaughn. She is handsome, rich 
and proud, and I fear scarcely the woman to make 
Clarence Vaughn perfectly happy.” 

For one confused moment after reading the fateful 
words Helen is penetrated by that rapid variety of 
sensations which come to one suddenly awakened 
from sleep. Then, with the realization that her heart 
has gone unbidden to another, every instinct of her 
nature is profoundly stirred. To one of her extreme 
sensibility and intense idealism such a discovery 
causes a shrinking scarcely to be appreciated by those 
not so delicately organized. We who know her 
womanly nature could bring to light many extenu- 
ating causes for her attachment to one in every way 
fitted to call forth such devotion. What though 
words and actions have borne but the semblance of 
friendship, have not their souls been united in heavenly 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


41 


strains of music? ” And have they not by means of 
those strains revealed to each other all that is purest 
and best in their natures ? 

But Helen makes no such plea for herself, and in 
her self-accusation is conscience only of the weakness 
whose humiliating sting she has no hope of escaping. 

Still, as the days go by and the turbulence of her 
feelings subsides, only a sweet seriousness of manner 
and a softer light in the beautiful dark eyes give evi- 
dence of the deep emotions awakened within her. 

Thus the weeks merge into months, and winter, 
melting and smiling, glides into blossoming spring. 
Mention of Mr. Vaughn^s approaching marriage has 
now ceased to create surprise, and though his name 
is still inseparably linked with Helen’s in society’s 
realm it is merely in a musical sense, for while some 
of her friends may at first have been apprehensive as 
to her feelings in the matter, such fears have long 
since been dispelled and forgotten. 

One Sunday evening she enters the choir earlier 
than usual. Through some mysterious influence this 
quiet retreat always imparts to her something of its 
own peacefulness, and her object in seeking the spot 
while still deserted is to divest herself if possible of 
the bitter reflections which still occasionally oppress 
and hold a thrall upon her. 

She has reached a crisis in her life when a change is 
inevitable. The old happy days of girlhood seem 
years behind her, and the interval since — what has it 
brought her ? Roses, beautiful roses, from which the 


42 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


leaves have all fallen, leaving only thorns to torment 
her. Then gazing into the hazy future she asks her- 
self what it may have in store for her. Are all her 
hopes and asperations to go out in night and dark- 
ness, and she to lead a sunless life? 

But her endeavor to penetrate beyond the present 
only meets with failure. This problem of to-morrow 
is still a sealed book and not easily to be solved. 

Slowly the people begin to arrive, then come in 
greater numbers; the bell sends forth its second vig- 
orous appeal, and still Helen finds herself no nearer 
its solution. 

Almost mechanically she joins in the opening an- 
them and succeeding hymns. 

Her beloved pastor is out of the city and with a 
shade of disappointment she leans back to listen to 
the minister who on this occasion fills the pulpit. 
Rather slight of stature and not prepossessing in 
appearance, he stands before them, announces his 
text and then — electrifies them all by the power of 
his eloquence. Not only does he sway them with his 
rare gems of thought and beautiful diction, but, 
impelled by a deep spiritual conviction, imparts life- 
giving comfort through his message of hope — that 
bright and glorious message from above. 

Glancing at Helen we find her no longer in a listless 
attitude, but leaning forward and to all appearance 
drinking in every word. On entering the church she 
had earnestly and sincerely asked for guidance, and 
now it gradually dawns upon her that God is an- 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


43 




sweriug her prayer through this man, whose voice 
she distinctly hears across the troubled waves of her 
sorrow, and whose words bring hope and new 
resolves. Listening intently she soon finds herself in 
a new realm of thought. Away in the distance she 
sees a vision of bright possibilities, and beyond these, 
in faint outlines, the image of her own true self as 
she might become. Thus far the noblest sentiments 
of her soul have remained unstirred, but to-night, as 
her keen spiritual insight penetrates that inner king- 
dom, those sentiments are suddenly thrilled into being 
and a future of golden promise slowly unfolds itself 
before her. Then, as hope begins to waver, she tells 
herself it is all a beautiful delusion, for how can she, 
Helen Carlyle, ever hope to attain to such a life of 
ideal achievement ? 

But again she is carried away by the glowing 
words coming from the pulpit, as all unconsciously 
this ardent preacher responds to her inmost thought. 

Coming a step or two forward, his countenance 
alive with power and feeling, he exclaims : “0, that 

I could convey to you a glimpse of this inner and 
higher life and give you to know the potency of that 
mysterious spiritual charm which must be experi- 
enced before it can be fully understood. We know 
that electricity unaided is dead, but at the touch of a 
button what may it not accomplish? So we of our- 
selves become cold and lose hope, but one moment in 
the divine presence, one look from him who wishes us to 
be and do our best, inflames us with noble ambition. 


44 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


and vve long to consecrate all to a lofty purpose. But 
here is where so many fail— fail because they hesitate. 
To such I would say, do not allow yourselves to be 
discouraged. You may yet realize that dream of a 
noble life. He who has said, ‘My strength is suffi- 
cient for thee,’ does not reveal gifts merely to with- 
hold them, or unfold glimpses of ideals only to keep 
them beyond our reach, but is able to lead us out 
into the highest and truest development. Then let 
us not quench these divine impulses but fan each 
kindling spark into a quickening flame and thus 
enjoy the full measure of the blessings in store for 
us.” 

The sermon is ended and for a moment not a sound 
is heard throughout the church. Then out of the 
hush of that eloquent silence the tones of the organ 
begin to vibrate, and to-night those soul-inspiring 
strains come with a new meaning to our music-loving 
Helen, touching a chord hitherto untuned and bid- 
ding her rise from wrecked hope to nobler heights. 

God has spoken to her soul to-night. She has 
“heard voices and melodies from beyond the gates,” 
and with the faith that looks through death, plans 
for herself a noble career — a career in which she means 
to dedicate her services to heaven. 

Glancing toward a familiar form in the center of 
the church, and choking back the sudden tears, she 
whispers, “Farewell, Clarence; farewell, sweet love; 
may my life be the better for having known you.” 
She feels assured that while there may still be strug- 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


45 


gles and heartaches in store for her, the memory of 
this sacred hour will return to bless her. For the 
present she has received a new incentive, has snatched 
vietory from defeat, in that she will not be crushed 
by her sorrow, but is determined to rise superior to it. 

With a radiant look of resolve she slowly deseends 
to the door where, without apparent confusion, she 
greets Clarence who, in a matter-of-eourse way, offers 
to walk home with her. 

They pass along silently until quite alone, when he 
surprises her by saying : 

“Well, my little friend, I never heard you sing so 
well as you did to-night, and something in your voice 
gives me courage to confide in you in a matter which 
Dr. Small’s sermon has brought home to me as never 
before. You probably know that I am about to be 
married, and I think will agree with me, when you 
see my beautiful Beatrice, that I am of all men 
the most fortunate. She is a grand, majestie being, 
but — ” he hesitates then adds, “but a child of the 
world. Bred in the lap of luxury, she has always 
been surrounded by those influences which are the 
least conducive to religious thought and feeling. But 
something tells me to-night that you may be instru- 
mental in revealing to her the better way. Surely 
with such a companion as you for a guide she cannot 
fail to be influenced. You will be a friend to my 
Beatrice, will you pot, Miss Helen? ” 

Poor Helen; where now are those brave resolu- 
tions ? Are they to be swept away by the first inrush 


46 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


of emotion ? No, she will not allow it to master her. 
Only a moment she hesitates, and then says quietly : 
“You may always consider me a friend to your friends, 
Mr. Vaughn, but in how far my friendship can extend 
to your — to your wife, must of necessity depend a 
great deal upon herself. She may not find in me those 
qualities she deems essential to an intimate acquaint- 
ance.” 

“Surely she cannot fail to admire you as I do,” he 
returns gallantly. 

But now they arrive at the house and Helen, feeling 
that his confidence is deserving of a better response, 
says : “I sincerely trust we shall be the best of friends, 
but should the result prove otherwise I can at least 
pray for her, and this much I promise you faithfully. 
May God bless you both and make you happy in 
your new relation. Good-night.” 

Before Clarence can express his gratitude she has 
vanished. Human endurance can bear no more, and 
she goes at once to her room. Here Mrs. Carlyle 
finds her, an hour later, on her knees weeping. 

The love existing between this mother and her 
kneeling child is of such a nature that the heart of 
one cannot be touched without calling forth a sym- 
pathetic response from the other. Even now, though 
not a word has been spoken in reference to Helen's 
trial, there is a perfect understanding between them, 
the mother, with unspeakable delicacy, offering balm 
and healing only at such times when it can be done 
unobtrusively. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 47 

Now, in genth' rousing Helen without expressing 
surprise, she at once takes her mind from herself by 
referring to a letter received from Gertrude, who is 
coming home in two weeks. For some time they dis- 
cuss the contents of the letter, and plan little surprises 
for the absent one. Then Mrs. Carlyle, hoping she 
has changed the drift of her child’s thoughts, bids her 
good-night. 

“Good-night, mama; what would your Helen do 
without her dear, sweet mama? ” 

The mother understands, but only says, “Let us 
be grateful for each other, my child,” and in her fond 
embrace adds what words cannot utter. 

“ I have given you little cause for gratitude of late, 
mama, but my eyes have been opened to-night, and I 
trust you shall not be disappointed in me hereafter.” 

I know you will endeavor to do what is right, my 
Helen; and now remember that those dear little 
scholars will expect a smile from their teacher in the 
morning, and unless you go to sleep soon it will be 
difficult for you to gratify them. Good-nighf.” 

Helen feels the full significance of her mother’s last 
words, and in trying to give her mind to those in her 
charge, finally goes to sleep, not to waken until the 
first streaks of day arouse her to the consciousness of 
having left an incomplete dream. She closes her eyes 
in the vain hope of bringing back the bright vision. 
But though unsuccessful in this, by and by the most 
beautiful thoughts come to her. Often before her 
thoughts had shaped themselves in a manner which 


48 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


surprised her, but she had allowed them to pass away 
like beautiful clouds which, even while we admire, are 
transformed and their beauty gone. But something 
impels her this time to rise and clothe them into 
words. From childhood books have been her daily 
companions. Keenlj^ alive to the beauties of an 
author she instinctively detects and fully appreciates 
a happily constructed sentence. To garner these bits 
of treasures she keeps a note-book always near her, 
and now places into this little book sentences con- 
structed by herself. A few days later, in looking them 
over, Helen is thrilled by her own words. Surely 
there must be some mistake, or is it possible that she 
has composed this? 

Ah ! does she not at this moment become conscious 
of the latent power within her, and in the distance 
discern the first rays of a new and brighter dawn ? 

If so, it is only for an instant, and with a sigh she 
puts the little germ away until another inspiration 
shall allow her to add to it. Though hope has been 
kindled, the luminous revelation is still beyond. She 
feels the divine presence, but is not prepared to look 
up ; she hears the gracious voice, but her listening ear 
is not yet tuned for the promise it has to give. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


49 


CHAPTER V, 

Fortunately for Helen, the closing eyents of her 
school and the anticipation of Gertrude’s home-com- 
ing prevented her mind from dwelling much upon the 
two who are now husband and wife, and happily 
domiciled in their new home on Rose Hill. 

The evening after Gertrude’s return Mrs. Carlyle 
receives a select few, whom she has invited in honor 
of the newly married couple ; and now for the first 
time Helen and Beatrice meet. 

Helen, in a simple costume of pure white, stands 
beside her mother when Clarence proudly leads his 
beautiful bride toward them, and the next moment 
the tall, proud form of Beatrice is slightly inclined in 
acknowledgment of Mrs. Carlyle’s congratulations. 

But before reaching the ladies Beatrice had sent a 
quick, searching glance toward Helen. Something in 
her husband’s manner of speaking of his little friend 
had prepared her woman’s instinct to look for some 
sign, and she has not looked in vain. 

While apparently so self-composed, so perfect in 
every movement, she has, nevertheless, during Helen’s 
defenseless moment, ruthlessly snatched from her the 
unhappy secret. This, however, the pure, innocent 
girl does not suspect, as she tries in vain to feel at 
ease with the bride, who fills her with awe, while 
commanding her admiration. 

Yes, Clarence was right, she is beautiful beyond 


50 


LIGHT OUT OF DAFXCNEvSS. 


compare, but, alas ! the beauty which attracts is 
marred by the hauteur which repels. Proud, digni- 
fied and unapproachable, she brings into this cheerful 
little home an atmosphere quite foreign to it, and 
with chilling reserve responds to the courtesies of 
those who, in deference to her husband, have opened 
their doors and hearts to receive her. 

So, while this informal little reception planned by 
Mrs. Carlyle proves enjoyable to many, it neverthe- 
less fails most decidedly in the achievement of that 
for which it had been intended. 

During the next two weeks the Carlyle home wears 
its holiday attire, and is made cheerful by Gertrude’s 
presence. Though she has by degrees acquired a 
quasi-dignity for the school-room, she is still, while 
home at least, the same ardent, impetuous Gertrude. 

For the first time since Mr. Pirie has known Ger- 
trude he finds opportunities for showing her those 
little attentions so vital in attracting souls to each 
other. But strange and vacillating as we have known 
her to be, she never until now quite reached that stage 
of incongruity which so baffles Mr. Pirie. 

Though she has numerous admirers in St. Paul, 
none have ever called forth her respect and esteem as 
he, and yet when in his presence she becomes at once 
unnatural and whimsical, always saying what it was 
not her intention to say and committing those little 
acts which call for self-reproach later. 

The time arrives for her to return to her school, and 
Mr. Pirie with others escorts her to the station, and 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


51 


is the last to bid her farewell. Though inwardly 
moved by this parting she nevertheless gives Charles 
the impression that her thoughts are far away, and 
when the train bears her away they are again left in 
doubt as to each other’s feelings ; she wondering if 
looks and actions hav^ deceived her, and he tortured 
by the thought that her heart has been won by 
another. 

During the weeks following Gertrude’s departure 
Helen once more feels the stirrings of that unknown 
power within her, and many bright pearls of thought 
find their way into the little note-book. One day in 
reading what she has written from the first she de- 
tects with a strange rapture that an unseen designer 
has impelled her on, since, with a touch here and there, 
she can easily combine these detached snatches into 
one harmonious whole. 

It is a precious moment for Helen when thus her 
divine teacher makes her aware of the higher possi- 
bilities within her, and as the months go by the silent 
music in her soul does not cease but responds more 
and more to her gentle touch. 

But now a new phase of her sacred responsibility 
presents itself. In order to fulfill her mission these 
treasures which have been coined in secret must be 
sent forth to be scrutinized by a critical world. 

May she not after all be mistaken as to their real 
worth? To whom can she go for advice and assist- 
ance? Of all her friends there is but one to whom 
she would willingly impart her secret, and whose 


52 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. . 


honest opinion she would prize most highly. 

Finally, after days of indecision and doubt, Helen 
puts aside all deeper feelings and decides to obtain 
Clarence Vaughn's advice. So wrapping up the 
precious manuscript she sends it with a note inform- 
ing Clarence she will be at his office the next day for 
his opinion. 

The next afternoon she finds Mr. Vaughn alone in 
his office. When they have exchanged greetings and 
Helen is seated he expresses surprise at what she has 
written, and informs her he would take great pleasure 
in sending it to his brother, who is at the head of a 
large publishing house. in the east. 

The twofriends enjoy a social talk, and when Helen 
rises to go Clarence takes her hand and says, with 
fervor: ‘H am delighted with your beautiful senti- 
ments, Miss Helen, and foresee a glorious future for 
my little friend." 

At this moment, when they are earnestly gazing 
into each other's eyes, the door opens and Beatrice 
walks into the room. 

Clarence drops Helen's hand, and with the smile 
still on his handsome face, offers his wife a chair. 

But Beatrice, with a stately" sweep of the graceful 
head, retreats, as she says, beg your pardon for 
interrupting such an interesting conversation." 

Fortunately Helen, in turning back for her umbrella, 
does not hear the stinging words, and though some- 
what surprised at Mrs. Vaughn's hasty retreat, has 
no suspicion of its import. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 53 

That evening Clarence, in speaking of Helen, asks 
Beatrice if she has returned Mrs. Carlyle’s call. 

“You seem to forget, Mr. Vaughn,” she says, frig- 
idly, ‘‘that I have always moved in the very best 
society.” 

Allowing his surprise to escape in a faint whistle, 
Clarence says, with mock gravity : “ Excuse me, my 
dear, if I fail to come up to the standard you consider 
the very best. According to my humble opinion you 
will not find many families in Sioux City better than 
the Carlyles.” 

“Then I shall regret very much that you brought me 
to such a place. I do not deny that Mrs. Carlyle is a 
born lady, and were she in better circumstances might 
be an ornament to society; but since she is not you 
cannot expect me to sacrifice my position by ignoring 
the social distinction between us. And since you have 
broached the subject allow me to warn you, Clarence. 
If, as you have frequently intimated, you hope to 
convert me through the influence of Helen Carlyle, I 
wish, once for all, to dispel that illusion. I consider 
her a false, feigning creature, and the more you men- 
tion her name in connection with your religion, the 
more I shall learn to dislike it.” 

With a pained look Clarence listens to this outburst 
from his wife, who had never revealed so much of the 
repellent in her nature to him. 

But let us return to that supposed false, feigning 
creature, that dear girl who is so bravely trying to 
atone for and overcome her fault. What now are her 


54 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


feelings, as with alternating fears and hopes she con- 
jectures the probable treatment of her precious man- 
uscript? One moment seeing it neglected and for- 
gotten with others in a waste basket, and in the next 
rising on the wings of Hope to behold her own words 
in printed form. 

It is Helen’s first secret unshared by her mother, 
and each soaring into the possible fulfillment of her 
desire, is followed by picturing the look of pleased 
surprise on that dear mother’s face. 

One evening after an unusually trying day at school 
she returns wearied and a trifle discouraged. One ol 
her best scholars has disappointed her, and various 
slight trials, incident to her vacation, have arisen to 
disturb and annoy her. Reaching the sitting-room 
she drops into the first chair, too tired to remove her 
wraps. 

Mrs. Carlyle, ever watchful and anxious, seeing 
that the dear face is paler than usual, persuadss 
Helen to lie down, and brings her a cordial. By and 
by, when the latter is somewhat rested, her mother 
asks, in a casual way, if she has subscribed for a new 
magazine, at the same time bringing one which had 
been left that day. 

Instantly the slight form on the sofa sits erect, the 
beautiful eyes beam with a new light, and it is with 
difficulty that we recognize, in the animated little 
being before us, the exhausted girl who came into 
the room a few moments before. 

With trembling fingers she turns the pages, and ere 


I.IGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


55 


long surprises her mother with an exclamation of 
delight, and can we wonder, when these kind words 
greet her astonished eyes ? 

“Our readers will be pleased to learn that a new 
and delightful contributor has appeared on the scene. 
Rose Lorring, who comes to us from the far west, 
seems to possess in no slight degree the endowments 
and acquirements for highly successful authorship. 
We herewith predict a brilliant career for our western 
Rose, and sincerel}^ trust she will continue to waft to 
us the delicious perfume of the prairies.” 

Never has Helen looked so beautiful as, with glisten- 
ing eyes and flushed cheeks, she points out the para- 
graph to her mother and informs her that she is the 
western Rose. 

Mrs. Carlyle kisses her tenderly. “And you have 
been able to keep your secret from me all this time ? ” 

“ Yes, mama, I wished to surprise you, and in case 
of disappointment you were to be spared the pain 
of it.” 

A few days later the Journal— ^\ o\xk City’s oldest 
and most popular daily paper — has these kind words 
for our embryonic authoress : 

“ As it may not be generalW known, we take great 
pleasure in announcing the fact that ‘ Rose Lorring,’ 

in magazine, is the nom de plume of one of Sioux 

City’s own children — one whom we have known from 
infancy — and it is with the assurance of voicing the 
sentiments of all Sioux Citians, that we give utterance 
to a feeling of pride in claiming her as such.” 

Two months after the appearance of Helen’s first 
production, she sends a second roll of manuscript to 


56 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


Mr. Vaughn, and the next day discovers that one 
sheet has been omitted. Placing this in an envelope 
she mails it at once, but for some unknown reason 
this, instead of following its predecessor to Mr. 
Vaughn’s office, is taken to his house, where it is 
received by Beatrice, who at once suspects the writer. 

Though not in the habit of prying into the affairs 
of others, she is determined, since it is in her power, 
to frustrate the scheme of her supposed rival. While 
deliberating whether or not to open the letter, she 
hears her husband’s step in the hall. Hastily flinging 
it into a cabinet near by she has barely time to take 
up a book, in which he finds her apparently much 
absorbed when entering. 

Even then her eyes are not raised in greeting, and 
to Clarence there is nothing unusual in this mode of 
reception, for he has long since ceased to look for any 
demonstration of feeling on the part of his wife, and 
would scarcely be more surprised to see a statue mani- 
festing affection than to find that his august, stately 
Beatrice could bend her shapely hand in a caress. 

The next day Beatrice looks for the hastily disposed 
letter, but though searching every drawer and apart- 
ment is unable to find it. She cannot understand 
how it has so mysteriously vanished. The cabinet is 
one which her husband never opens, being used exclu- 
sively by herself. There is therefore no reason to sup- 
pose that he has found it. She finally concludes to 
await developments, without mentioning the matter 
to Clarence. 


57 






LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 

CHAPTER VI. 

With what thoughtful devotion our Heavenly 
Father has planned for our welfare and happiness. 
One of the chief blessings we enjoy, though seldom 
acknowledged, is our inability to penetrate the future. 
If, perchance, a peculiarly bright and happy lot is in 
store for her, how many hours of pleasureable hope 
would be lost were we always certain of the fruition 
of our desires, which, when realized, do not possess 
for us quite the charm they did when considered unat- 
tainable ? Then, on the other hand, if a lonely, cheer- 
less existence were to stare us in the face, what 
gloomy anticipations we might experience, whose 
agony would outstrip even the reality ? 

Especially would ardent, emotional natures suffer 
through such a reversal of the natural order of things 
— those natures for whom joy and sorrow are tinged 
to excess, who discern in the sunshine its brightest, 
most brilliant hues, but alas, when clouds appear, can 
perceive only the darkest, deepest shades. 

What we had long feared for our Gertrude has at 
last come to pass. She is overtaken by grief, and true 
to our forebodings, persistently gazes into the black 
cloud, refusing to believe thesunwill ever shine again. 

We find her, one Saturday afternoon, alone in her 
room. Before her are several letters and writing 
material, but in vain she endeavors to give her 
thoughts to letter- writing. 


58 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


That morning the information was brought her 
that her friend, May Benton, and Mr. Pirie are soon 
to be married. 

Though she had often jestingly intimated, and even 
looked forward to such a sequence, she is certain now 
that her heart has had no part in those predictions — 
certain that for her none other can ever take the place 
of Charles Pirie. 

Having made several vain attempts to write, she 
throws down her pen and resorts to her old habit of 
walking back and forth in her room, ever and anon 
peering out of the window into the leaden sk}^ then 
once more slowly back and forth, back and forth, and 
again topping to see nature’s vSympathetic tears 
trickling down the window pane. 

Never shall she forget this rainy, dreary, well nigh 
endless Saturday afternoon. It seems days since she 
entered the room, when at last the clouds appear to 
grow blacker, and one by one the lights gleaming 
through the darkness assure her that the day is 
ended. Exhausted by this time, she sinks into a 
chair and remains motionless. 

Tea time comes and goes, leaving her undisturbed ; 
for our American boarding-houses are delightfully 
independent institutions. We can go and come at 
pleasure, and we can also be forgotten. 

When at a late hour the light near her transom is 
extinguished, she rises from her cramped position, 
and without lighting the gas, retires. 

And now a new rush of feeling, like a great wave. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


59 


overtakes and submerges all others. The human 
heart eraves S3^mpath3^, and as in childhood Ger- 
trude’s minor griefs had been subdued and banished 
by the gentle touch of her mother’s hand, and the 
sweet cadence of that loved voice, so now her thoughts 
go out to that absent mother with unutterable long- 
ing. In imagination she pictures the dear face, almost 
feels the gentle touch, and in listening for the sweet 
voice these words, rising from the distant past, re- 
spond to memory’s call : My dear child, do \"ou not 
know }^ou have a greater friend than I ? One whom 
3^ou have neglected to appeal to, and who is far 
better able to assist you than I ? ” 

Oh, the potency of a Christian mother’s influence! 
Penetrating time and distance, it now finds its wa^' 
into the hidden recesses of this troubled heart, causing 
Gertrude to look up for guidance, and at last find for- 
getfulness in sleep. 

Happy, happy Gertrude! to have been blessed with * 
such a mother’s tender watchfulness. We shudder to 
think what might have been your lot in life, had 
that turbulent nature been subjected to worldly dis- 
cipline. 

And yet this sunny, cloudy- propensity prevents her 
from giving way to despondency. Finding theclouds 
dispersed in the morning and dripping verdure glis- 
tening in the sunshine, she cannot, child of nature 
that she is, fail to respond to her mood ; and in min- 
gling with her fellow-boarders this bright, beautiful 
Sunda}^ morning, not a trace of her recent bitter 


60 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


struggle is visible. Still, as the da^^s go by, her mirth 
becomes more subdued, and a quiet, dignity gradually 
asserts itself. 

By the end of the second week she considers her 
grief conquered, and bravely assures herself she can 
be content in witnessing the happiness of the two 
who have marred her own, when a letter from May 
scatters like chaff these heroic resolutions. 

Having had but the one indirect report of her friend’s 
engagement, there had come to her, almost uncon- 
sciously, the hope that it might not be true, and she 
little realized, until deprived of it, how much this 
hope had fortified her in making her brave resolve. 

‘‘You will doubtless be surprised,” writes May, “to 
learn that we are to be married in two weeks, which 
is sooner than we expected, owing to a call for Mr. 
Pirie to go south. And now, Gertie, remember, in 
pursuance of the vow we made each other years ago, 
you are to be first bridesmaid. Mable Vernon is to 
be second. Your mother has kindly promised to have 
everything in readiness for 3^ou, so please do not dis- 
appoint me, for I have set m}^ heart upon your 
coming.” 

Gertrude crushes the letter, rebelling at the thought 
of taking part in a ceremony in which she would fain 
have the first place. “ How can she expect me to go 
through such an ordeal? Oh! May, May! do you 
not know you have broken my heart ? ” And again 
this poor girl is overcome. 

But an hour later she is on her way to Minnetonka 


I>IGHT OtrT OF DARKNESS. 


61 


\Yith. a party of young people. The motion of the 
train has a soothing effect upon her feelings, and 
when by and by they glide over the beautiful lake, 
with the moon overhead, and soft strains of music 
fitfully wafted from the shore, a melancholly restful- 
ness holds her captive. 

“Oh! wh}^ might she not always experience this 
quiet repose? Why was it given her to feel so in- 
tensely? Would it not be possible for her to go 
through life in the undisturbed, placid manner of 
some who never seem to have a care ? ’’ 

No, Gertrude, you know it would not be possible. 
As these peaceful waters may at any moment be tem- 
pest tossed, so your poor, weak nature must ever be 
subject to the winds and storms of life. Yet we would 
not have you other than you are. Face life with all 
your imperfections, all your impulses, only follow 
your highest inspirations, and though you may have 
deeper sorrows you will also experience richer joys. 

Though Gertrude returns from the excursion in a 
better frame of mind, she still hesitates in accepting 
May^s invitation, and the next day, having dismissed 
the scholars, goes to her desk fully resolved upon pen- 
ning her excuses. 

At this moment she sees Miss Wilson, the young 
lady who acts as substitute, leaving the building. 
An impulse, for which she cannot account, prompts 
her to step into the hall and ask if she is engaged for 
all of next week. 

“Only until Thursday, unless Miss Fort remains 


62 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


longer than she expected. Did you wish me to teach 
for 3"OU, Miss Carlyle? ’’ 

“If you have Thursday and Friday at your dis- 
posal, I should like to go home.” 

“ Very well, I will let you know as soon as possible. 
Miss Carlyle. In her last letter Miss Fort informed 
me she expected to return Wednesday provided her 
mother continued to improve.” 

So it happens that instead of sending a refusal Ger- 
trude tells May she will be there if possible. 

Wednesday comes and Miss Fort has not been heard 
from. Gertrude had hoped to take the night train, 
arriving at Sioux City in the morning; but it is an 
hour after train time when she is apprised of Miss 
Fortes return. Nothing remains for her now but to 
take the morning train, which will leave her but an 
hour on reaching home in which to prepare for the 
wedding. 

Arriving at Sioux City the next evening at seven, 
she is greeted by Helen, and the cab in waiting whirls 
them at once to their home. 

Here loving hands have been at work, and under 
their skillful touch our little traveler is soon trans- 
formed. 

“Why Gertie, how lovely you are,” says Helen. 
“You should be a bride yourself to-night.” 

Her sister^s heart gives one great throb as she tells 
herself she would gladly be the bride on this occasion. 

And Gertrude is indeed beautiful as she stands 
before them in the rich creamy silk, so becoming to 




. LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 63 

Iher style of beauty, her cheeks flushed with excite- 
ment, and her dark eyes glistening with half-shed 
tears. 

The carriage with Miss Vernon now arrives, and 
all are soon on their way to the church. It has been 
decided that the bride and groom shall go up the 
center aisle, Gertrude and Miss Vernon up the left- 
hand, and the groomsmen up the right-hand aisles, 
and after the service all to return down the center 
aisle. 

According to previous instructions, the cabman 
takes the two bridesmaids to the left entrance. In a 
few moments the wedding march begins and the 
three different parties slowly wend their way toward 
the altar. 

When all are in their places the two friends of a 
lifetime are side b}^ side. Though debarred from the 
usual mode of greeting. May’s hand comes down to 
meet Gertrude’s in a loving clasp. All the old tender- 
ness comes surging back, and though blinded with 
tears the latter finds new strength for what is before 
her. 

The tones of the organ cease, the clergyman slowly 
descends toward them, and the service begins. Not 
a word is lost to Gertrude, as she waits with bated 
breath for the name so dear to her. 

Slowly and solemnly the man of God continues to 
impress upon the minds of the contracting parties the 
sacredness of their obligations toward one another, 
and at last comes the query : 


64 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS, 


Herbert, do you promise to take this woman as 
your lawful wife — to love, to cherish and protect — 

But Gertrude hears no more. What does it mean ? 
Has he changed his name ? or can it be possible, Oh ! 
can it be possible that she has been mistaken ? 

Had she not so persistently refrained from turning 
her brimming eyes in that direction she would ere 
this have known that a stranger stands beside the 
bride. 

But now it is over. Again the tones of the organ 
are heard, and when the two, now made one, turn to 
go, Gertrude, as in a dream, finds herself face to face 
with Mr. Pirie, who takes her arm. The second 
groomsman then joins Miss Vernon, and the three 
couples slowW and gracefully pass out amid the 
admiring glances of all present. 

Was ever happiness more complete? To have met 
Mr. Pirie under almost any circumstances, after their 
long separation, would have been joy for our Ger- 
trude; but to have all the pain and sorrow of the 
past weeks suddenly removed in this unexpected man- 
ner causes a revulsion of feeling so great that a slight 
faintness creeping through her entire frame makes her 
almost helpless. But the strong arm bears her on 
until safe within the carriage, when she leans back, 
grateful for the darkness and this breathing space, 
for there is to be a reception in which the brides- 
maids, as a matter of course, are expected to parti- 
cipate. 

Reaching the house she goes at once to May’s room, 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 65 

where, in a short time, the latter finds her, sobbing 
as if her heart would break. 

“Why Gertie, dear, what does this mean? Tears 
on this happy occasion? ’’ 

In an instant Gertrude, regardless of the lovely cos- 
tume, crushes the lovelier bride in her arms, until the 
latter begs to be released. 

“ Oh, May ! I must tell some one, or my heart will 
burst. Can you believe that until we were at the 
altar I supposed that you were to marry Charles 
Pirie ? ” 

Now it is Ma\^’s turn to be moved. 

“ Gertie ! Gertie ! you have added the crowning joy 
to my wedding-day. I knew you loved him. Yes, 
dear, I can believe it, for I endeavored to deceive you. 
Forgive me, but I was determined you should see 
your own heart as I saw it. From the day that 
Charles Pirie first saw you he has loved only you. I 
perceived that you cared for him, but began to fear 
that nothing short of a catastrophe could convince 
you of the fact. But come, the\=^ are waiting for us, 
and I am anxious to introduce you to my dear Her- 
bert. He is a cousin of Charles, and having the same 
name it was not difficult to mislead you.^’ 

The last remark is made on the way down, leaving 
no time for explanations. 

And now the queen of the evening, with her retinue 
about her, receives the congratulations of her friends 
in the sweet, graceful manner so natural to her. 

Looking upon the bright, happy faces, few would 


66 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 




surmise that of this central group there is one whose 
thoughts and feelings are not in harmony with these 
brilliant surroundings, that at this moment Charles 
Pirie is endeavoring to convince himself he can never 
hope to win the love of the woman so dear to him. 
For how else is he to interpret Gertrude’s silence? 
How to know that at the very time when he had 
longed for some word of welcome, some sign of pleas- 
ure on her part at seeing him, her new-found hope 
had kept her speechless ? And as the evening advances 
nothing in Gertrude’s demeanor gives presage of 
brighter possibilities, for by an unfailing law of 
sequence, certainty has suddenly aroused the old will- 
fulness. Fearful lest a word or a look from her should 
reveal to Mr. Pirie the true state of her feelings, she 
avoids him altogether, determined he shall never 
know how to-night’s disillusion has transmuted des- 
pondency into jo^^ful anticipation. 

When the guests have all passed through, Charles, 
feeling that he will not be missed, resolves to leave 
this gay scene after making his excuses to the bride. 
But for once our gentle May is intractable. 

“ No, cousin Charles, I could not be so cruel as allow 
you to go now. Do you not know what happiness 
is within your reach ? That the prize more precious 
to you than anything else in the world is yours if you 
will but claim it ? ” 

But he seemingly does not comprehend. 

“Surely my new cousin has acquired more than a 
new name to-night, or I have been ignorant of her 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


67 


propensity for speaking in riddles.^' 

'‘Oh ! you obstinate man, do you desire me to pro- 
pose for you ? This much let me tell you : I have made 
up my mind you are not to leave us to-night with- 
out the promise of some day making Gertrude Car- 
lyle my cousin. But there, I must speak to Mrs. 
Chase. 

And with this last remark she leaves him in a state 
of bewilderment most unusual for him. Just then, 
chancing to look up, he encounters a glance from 
Gertrude. Instantly her eyes are averted as she ad- 
dresses the gentleman beside her. But needless now 
for her to continue feigning, that one look has be- 
trayed her, and inspired Charles with hope. Still, it 
seems almost impossible for him to approach her. 
Through the many little devices, known only to artful 
woman, she evades every opportunity for an inter- 
view. But he is no longer despondent, and every 
moment in her presence now adds to his determina- 
tion to win her if possible. 

As for Gertrude, who could look into that animated 
face to-night and not feel irresistably drawn towards 
her? Filled with an ecstacy of delight which she can- 
not conceal, every faculty of her being is enlisted in 
the happiness of the hour, while a glow of enthusiasm 
and the charm of her surroundings combine to en- 
hance her beauty and force her to fluency and elo- 
quence almost in spite of herself 

As Mr. Pirie sees the group about her gradually 
augmenting, and wonders how it will be possible for 


68 




LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 

him to Speak to her, he feels a gentle touch on his 
shoulder, and turning confronts the clear blue eyes of 
pretty Mrs. Carlyle. 

^^Mr. Pirie, can you tell me where I shall find Ger- 
trude? I am obliged to go now, but wish to speak 
to her first. 

“If you desire it, I can bring her to 3^ou, Airs. Car- 
lyle.^’*^ 

“ 0 , thank 3"Ou, Mr. Pirie; I will wait for 3^ou in 
the hall.'’ 

As he reaches the merry group it suddenly occurs to 
him that he is acting the part of intruder, but the 
next instant he makes his way to Gertrude’s side, and 
in as few words as possible delivers his message. 

She bows graciously, makes her excuses to those 
about her, and allows him to lead her awa}^ 

They find Mrs. Carlyle awaiting them on the 
veranda. It takes her but a moment to give her 
daughter the necessary information, and then Mr. 
Pirie escorts her to the carriage. 

While he is gone Gertrude remains spell-bound. It 
is one of those beautiful June evenings, when all 
nature seems at rest, when the beauties and the m\^s- 
teries around her transport her soul to rapture. 
Almost unconsciously she clasps her handstand rever- 
ently looks up into the clear vault of heaven, whose 
glittering orbs impart a silent benediction, filling her 
young heart with gratefulness and peace. 

Thus Charles finds her on his return, a beautiful 
object for the moonbeams to play upon. How he 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


69 


longs to take her in his arms and tell her of his love, 
but instead links his arm into hers and asks if she will 
promenade on the veranda. 

Gertrude making neither resistance nor response, 
they silently and slowly walk back and forth, each 
wondering what is uppermost in the other’s mind. 
But at last Charles decides that the opportunity has 
arrived for him to speak, and having come to this 
conclusion he is not one to hesitate. 

‘‘ Miss Carlyle, I have long desired to speak to you 
on a subject which is of the greatest importance to 
me, but have never felt myself justified in so doing. 
If now I am too presuming or too abrupt I trust you 
will forgive me.” Then lowering his tone to one of 
infinite tenderness, he adds, Gertrude, I have loved 
you from the moment I first saw you in Mr. Fuller’s 
office, but have scarcely dared to hope that you could 
care for me. Tell me, Gertrude, have my fears or my 
hopes deceived me? ” 

The spell which holds Gertrude in thraldom will not 
permit her to reply at once, and, to the consternation 
of Charles, she begins to weep. In tones expressive 
of the deepest anxiety he begs her to forget what he 
has said, when she suddenly surprises him by looking 
up into his face with a smile. 

‘'Mr. Pirie, I never expected to tell you, but when 
I came to Sioux City to-night it was under the 
impression that you were to marry May, and I was 
very unhappy. Are you satisfied ? ” 

Now he does not hesitate to fold her in his arms. 


70 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


and when a little later they return to the brilliant 
rooms there are no traces of tears on her beaming 
countenance. 

May, seeing them enter, knows that she and Ger- 
trude will soon be cousins, and later in the evening 
when these two exchange farewells the sorrow at 
parting is absorbed in anticipation of a happy re- 
union in the fall, when all expect to return and remain 
in Sioux City. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


71 


CHAPTER VII. 

While we have seen two souls lovingly blended in 
unison, two hearts which should have beat as one 
have gradually been riven asunder. Owing to a num- 
ber of unfortunate coincidences, Beatrice Vaughn 
finally comes to the conclusion that her husband is 
false to her, and though outwardly undisturbed and 
serene, is secretly maturing a plan to leave him. 
Thus, while Clarence, with silent generosity is hope- 
fully looking forward to the time when her better 
nature shall prevail, the shadow which has come 
between them is daily growing denser, and so com- 
pletely envelopes each as to cause them to live almost 
independently of each other. 

At last a letter comes which brings matters to a 
crisis. Beatrice learning that her parents were con- 
templating an extended journey through Europe had 
in one of her letters expressed a dcvsire to accompany 
them, and now they have written to inform her that 
all arrangements have been completed, and if she still 
intends going she must come to Minneapolis at once. 

Determined not to apprise Clarence of her intended 
departure until the last moment, Beatrice still clings 
to her secret until the next morning, when she gives 
him her mother's letter to read. After hurriedly glanc- 
ing through it he looks up for an explanation, but 
none being given, asks in astonishment : 

‘‘What does this mean, Beatrice? You have no 


72 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


serious intentions of going to Europe, have vou?^^ 

His wife, realizing that the time has arrived when 
evasions are impossible, tells him at once that she has 
made all preparations for going. 

The surprise occasioned by this annouccement ren- 
ders Clarence speechless. He looks for some symptom 
of feeling on her part but instead meets a glance of 
defiance. At last he recovers his voice suificiently to 
say 

“Your words surprise and distress me, Beatrice. 
If a long separation is matter of indifference to you, 
I confess it is not to me, and can you wonder that I 
should feel grieved to find you have completed your 
plans in so important a matter without consulting 
me? If you had intimated a desire to go abroad I 
might have arranged to go with you/^ 

Surely that tone must carry conviction with it ; but 
no, only a derisive smile curls her lip, and she seems 
serenely unconscious of inflicting pain as she languidly 
inquires : 

“And leave those bewitching smiles behind ? 

An undisguised expression of impatience sweeps 
over his face as he quickly responds : 

“You have several times thrown out insinuations 
which I am entirely at a loss to comprehend. Will 
you kindly inform me wherein I have gone astray? ” 

With politely veiled irony she replies : 

“Truly, Mr. Vaughn, your facilit}^ for feigning is 
marvelous. If your own conscience is so remiss, per- 
haps Miss Carlyle can enlighten you on the matter.’' 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


73 




^‘Beatrice, it does not seem possible that you can 
be in earnest. May I ask how long you have allowed 
these suspicions to master you ? 

But in vain he protests ; his words only aggravate 
the evil he endeavors to mitigate. With the most 
refined ingenuity she meets every remonstrance with 
a stinging response, and calmly inflicts such wounds 
as are seldom healed. She, whose name is woven in 
the fibers of his heart, now stands before him in a new 
light, and as he gazes at her a curdling revulsion of 
feeling seizes him for this being who seems so utterly 
devoid of a soul. Her overbearing manner has 
passed the limits of toleration, and whereas hitherto 
he has been frank and candid, he now shrinks from 
revealing his deeper feelings and is suddenly changed 
from the kind, loving husband, to the firm implaca- 
ble judge. In a stern, decided tone, so new to her, 
he says : 

“It is time we should understand each other, Bea- 
trice. If in your heart you believe all of which you so 
confidently accuse me, I certainly think we had better 
separate, though I once thought it would break my 
heart to lose you. But remember, if of your own 
volition you leave me, thus confirming your belief in 
what you have said to-day, we are parted forever. 
Think, Beatrice, before you take so decided a step. 
There is still time for you to retract. I am willing to 
forgive all on condition that hereafter you have full 
confidence in me. May kind Providence guide you in 
making your choice.’’ 


74 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


With this last benediction, tender, almost beseech- 
ing, he leaves her. 

For an instant electric truth pierces the cloud hang- 
ing between them, which is further severed by a great 
wave of regret sweeping over her, thus emitting a 
ray of light which for one little moment enables her 
to see that she has wronged her husband. But again 
the shadow of doubt obscures the momentary gleam, 
and pride — deeply-seated, unreasoning, unyielding 
pride — precludes the possibility of a reconciliation. 
What ! she, the queenly Beatrice, sue for pardon ? 
Never ! 

In feverish haste she ‘summons a servant, giving- 
orders for herself and trunks to be taken to the depot 
in an hour. So well has she planned, that little else 
remains to be done. At the appointed time she is 
equipped for her journey, and before noon is on her 
way to Minneapolis. 

Mr. Vaughn, unable to realize that his wife could 
possibly have been in earnest, returns earlier than 
usual that evening, hoping in some way to prove to 
her how unfounded have been her suspicions, and, 
perchance, to pave the way for a better understand- 
ing in future. So engrossed does he become with this 
prospect that he enters the house in a state of confi- 
dent expectation . 

When, therefore, he discovers that she is really gone 
— gone with a firm belief in her false accusations, the 
strong man is for a time overcome. Heedless of the 
supper bell or the servant, who finally ventures in to 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


75 


call him, he sits for hours with bowed head and 
clasped hands, pondering over the fate which has 
thus dealt with him. Late in the night he goes to his 
room, but not to sleep, and before morning is fully 
determined to leave the place so fraught with bitter 
memories. 

That very week he had advertised for a man to 
travel through the Pacific states in the interests of 
his firm, and none having as yet been found suffi- 
ciently eompetent, he now decides to go himself. His 
resolution is easily carried into effect, and before the 
following night he is traveling towards California. 


76 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Arriving at Minneapolis Mrs. Vaughn finds every' 
thing in readiness for their journey, and also that 
Aliss Bula Lynn, her most intimate friend and former 
schoolmate, is to accompany them. She firmly steels 
her heart against any intrusive qualms regarding the 
recent quarrel with her husband, and does not betray 
by word or look that there is aught in her inner con- 
science which might possibly mar the pleasures so 
confidently anticipated. Even when her mother jest- 
ingly asks how she could make up her mind to leave 
Clarence, she gives no hint that the separation is to 
be a permanent one. Some time it will be necessary 
to tell them, but until then — well, she will allow 
events to bring about the disclosure. To all appear- 
ance she is the happiest of the merry group which 
soon bids farewell to a host of friends. 

In a few days they reach New York, find their allot- 
ted staterooms on one of those magnificent floating 
palaces, and without a tremor launch upon the deep. 

And now occasionally in the night watches, when 
there is no one near to cause her to forget — when only 
the rolling, tossing waves keep time with the rocking, 
swaying motion of the massive ship — Beatrice begins 
to feel the stings of remorse. That inner voice so long 
stifled will be silent no longer, though as yet its moni- 
tions are heeded only at rare intervals, and then 
seemingly forgotten by that serene self-satisfied being 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 77 

who comes on deck a few hours later and mingles 
with her gaj companions. 

The fond parents, overjoyed in having their only 
child with them again, leave nothing undone which 
the circumstances will permit to give her pleasure, 
and she becomes as formerly the caressed and petted 
darling of their idolatry. 

Thus the days pass pleasantly, almost magically, 
while the nights become more unendurable. Beatrice 
cannot understand herself ; she seems to be living in 
two distinct worlds, in each of which she assumes an 
entirely different nature. Owing to her youth and 
physical endurance the mental strain put upon her 
during the night leaves no visible effect in the morn- 
ing, while habitual dignity and reserve enable her to 
maintain an air of serenity. 

At last, one beautiful moonlight night all on board 
retire with happy anticipations for the morrow, when 
they hope to bid farewell to the restless waves and 
tread once more upon good old solid mother earth. 
The first ra^^s of the rising sun are to reveal to them 
the distant landscape, and with this bright prospect 
in view man\^ have left the deck earlier than usual. 
Even Beatrice, undisturbed by haunting thought, 
and with the calm assurance that a return to land 
will dispel those ever-recurring phantoms of her 
imagination, is soon lost in peaceful slumber. 

But even this respite is denied her, for suddenly she 
is sitting up in bed and hears her father calling in 
hurried, anxious tones. Unlocking the door she finds 


78 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


her parents without, greatly excited, and, amid 
sounds of terror, learns that the* ship is on fire. 

Her mother assists her in dressing, while Mr. Van 
Dyke hastens to arouse Miss Lynn. By the time all 
are equipped, the wildest confusion prevails. Only 
those who have had a similar experience can compre- 
hend the wild fear, the overwhelming dread which 
now takes possession of these horror-stricken people. 

Before they were aware of danger a blazing, seeth- 
ing furnace raged beneath them, but the captain, 
hoping to extinguish the flames without creating a 
panic, had not given the alarm until every effort 
proved unavailing. And now, alas! the hopelessness 
of their position is only too apparent. The fire so 
long kept under control, suddenly bursts all bounds 
and as if in revenge seems to envelope the entire ship 
at the same time. 

One little spot, however, still remains unharmed, 
and to this they all cluster to take the boats which 
for some time have been in readiness. 

And now begins a struggle which pen cannot de- 
scribe. What wonder, with the merciless flames 
above, and the pitiless waves beneath, that each of 
these frantic individuals should at the same moment 
make a desperate effort to elude their grasp. 

The boat to which Beatrice’s parents are lowered 
is so crowded that the steersman refuses to wait for 
another, and thus they become separated. However, 
Beatrice and her friend are taken into the next, and 
for some time the two boats remain side by side. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


79 


But by and by the second, passing the first, takes 
the lead, and then as others come crowding upon 
them it becomes difficult to distinguish one from the 
other. 

Suddenh", without warning, and while hundreds of 
human beings are still clinging to it, that great 
flaming mass goes crashing and sizzing beneath the 
waves. Before those who are looking on have recov- 
ered from the shock, and while shrieks of the lost still 
fill the air, the upheavel caused by the sinking ship 
upsets one of the boats. 

Beatrice, who until this moment had not lost sight 
of the boat containing her parents, casts one shud- 
dering glance in that direction and with an agonizing 
cry breaking from her lips, sinks into her friend ^s 
arms unconscious. 

Soon numerous forms are seen to rise with hands 
imploringly uplifted, and with heartrending tones 
cr^dng in piteous appeal for aid. But despite every 
effort put forth in their behalf, only three out of that 
entire boatload are saved. 

When Beatrice finally opens her bewildered eyes, 
darkness and the horrors of the night have vanished, 
and the boats glide along so peacefully that for some 
time her half-awakened mind fails to grasp the situa- 
tion. Then, as with a flash, she remembers all, and 
begs to know if none were saved. When told that 
the two so dear to her were lost she sinks back 
into a stupor from which it seems impossible to 
rouse her. 


80 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


As previously mentioned, the ship was not a great 
distance from land at the time of the disaster, and as 
the boats are provided with all things needful the 
survivors hope, with the continuance of fair weather, 
to reach Liverpool in safety. 

But those brilliant flames acted as a signal of dis- 
tress, and before noon they meet the rescuing party 
sent out for their relief. 

It thus happens that when Beatrice next awakens 
to consciousness she finds herself in a handsome suit 
of rooms at one of the best hotels in the city, and her 
friend at her bedside. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


81 


CHAPTER IX. 

For three months Mr. and Mrs. Charles Pirie have 
occupied their beautiful new home in North Sioux 
City. Several years ago a cable line was built out on 
Jackson street, and since then many elegant homes 
have been erected in this vicinity, which to all appear- 
ance is rapidly becoming the most fashionable por- 
tion of the city. 

Though Gertrude lives two miles from the old home 
she can step into a car near her own door and in a 
few minutes be left at her mother’s, and within half a 
block from her home is that of her dear friend May, 
now known as Mrs. Herbert Pirie. Thus these two 
are once more daily companions, and the joyous con- 
fidence and perfect sympathy of former days have not 
been dimmed through the sacred charm of a deeper 
love. In the dignity and purity of their new happi- 
ness and hope we find an added fascination. How 
serenely contented the one, how blissfully happy the 
other — the gentle, confiding, clinging May ; and the 
sparkling, glowing, impetuous Gertrude. 

This evening the two friends and their husbands 
are dining with Mrs. Carlyle, and after dinner the 
entire party will drive down to witness the arrival of 
good old King Corn, as this is Sioux City’s festival 
season and that worthy sovereign is once more to 
enter his palace in great splendor and magnificence. 

Throughout the city banners, pennants, flags and 


82 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


trimmings, deeply tinged with a golden hue, wave in 
graceful tribute to the monarch and the occasion. 

The streets leading to the center of attraction are 
thronged with eager sight-seers and blaze with 
myriads upon m^udads of lights, while sweet strains 
of music mingle and blend harmoniously with all this 
gayety and brilliance. 

The palace itself, radiant and sparkling without, 
unfolds to the beholder on entering a scene of enchant- 
ment surpassing all that the imagination had con- 
ceived, while within its portals the unlimited displa}^ 
of artistic skill excites constant wonder and amaze- 
ment. Everywhere are bright, smiling faces, the 
air is freighted with heavenly sounds, and altogether 
this harvest home celebration proves a most jo3"Ous 
event. 

When at last our part}^ arrives Gertrude’s beaming 
countenance bespeaks her keen enjoyment of the scene 
which breaks upon her like a vision, and that fervid, 
artistic nature, so easily transported, is elevated to 
rapture. 

Somewhat later in the evening Charles Pirie, a little 
apart from the rest, is admiring a beautiful grotto, 
when a messenger bo^^ coming up quieth^ slips a 
note into his hand. He glances at the vanishing boy, 
and then unfolding the missive, reads : 

Dear Charles : Please meet me as soon as possi- 
ble at the north entrance. Your brother, 

‘‘Ralph.” 

His brother Ralph ! The dear brother whom he has 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


83 


not seen for years? Charles’ first impulse is to tell 
Gertrude of the pleasure in store for him. But he has 
only taken a few steps in her direction when a second 
thought restrains him. Why had Ralph resorted to 
this mysterious mode of announcing his presence 
instead of coming forward himself? While hesitating 
he suddenly discovers his nearness to the north en- 
trance, and seeing that his wife is very much pre- 
occupied, he slips out, hoping in a few moments to 
introduce his handsome young brother. 

In a short time the brothers are clasping hands, 
while Charles expresses surprise that Ralph had not 
come to them at once, and adds with evident pleasure : 
“ Gertrude will be delighted to meet you ? ” 

This, however, causes the other to shrink back into 
the darkness, as he says, uneasily : 

“No, Charles; I couldn’t think of going in there.” 
“ Why, Ralph, what has happened ? Are you ill ? ” 
“No, it isn’t that, but Oh! Charles, I am in such 
awful trouble ! Won’t you help me out of it ? ” 

“ My dear boy, you know I will do anything in my 
power for \^ou ; but let us find a more secluded spot. 
I will excuse myself to the rest and take you to the 
house, where we can talk without being disturbed.” 

“No, no, I cannot go there; besides I ought to get 
back to the bank before to-morrow noon. Could you 
— could you — Oh ! Charles, how can I tell you ? Could 
you by any possible means raise two thousand dol- 
lars for me? You shall have it back, every cent; do 
not doubt me. Oh! if you only knew how sorry I am.” 


84 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


The last words are poured forth in a torrent, but 
Charles scarcely hears them. 

‘‘Two thousand dollars? Why, Ralph, that is a 
small fortune. What have 3"Ou been doing? 

Then follows the painful story. How, two years 
ago, he had learned to gamble, at first meeting with 
such marked success that visions of untold wealth 
haunted him da^^ and night. But a change came, 
and he lost not only what he had so easily won, but 
the precious sum which it had taken years to accu- 
mulate. In desperation he began to take small sums 
from the bank, always hoping to gain enough to 
replace the entire amount. But this had finally 
reached the above-mentioned figures, and now the 
books are to be examined and unless his brother can 
help him he must go to the penitentiarjL 

“Oh! Charles, save me from that,’’ he concludes, 
“and it shall never, never happen again. If you 
could know what I have suffered you would believe 
me.” 

“ But how can I, Ralph ? I have but one thousand, 
and that toward the last payment on our home, 
which will be due in three months.” 

“ Couldn’t you borrow it for me ? You are so well 
known here.” 

“I have never done such a thing, Ralph, and how 
can I now without wronging my wife ? At any rate 
I must consult her first. And since you will not come 
to the house you had better go to the Garretson to- 
night and I will see you as early as possible in the 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 85 

morning. But do not depend too much upon me. I 
can promise you nothing to-night.” 

With this faint hope, Ralph starts for the hotel, and 
Charles, saddened and heart-sick, re-enters the palace, 
where, after considerable searching, he finds the others, 
who conclude that he had got lost in the crowd. 

When at a late hour they leave the palace, Gertrude 
exclaims with enthusiasm : 

‘‘0, Charles, did you ever hear such music? If I 
participate in these festivities during the next two 
weeks I shall become so entranced by sweet melodies 
as to be insensible to the ordinary affairs of our mor- 
tal existence.” 

Poor Charles, realizing that a revelation of what 
he has learned to-night will soon cause a return to 
the bitter realities of life, asks himself how it will be 
possible for him to tell her. Why should he mar the 
happiness of this hour? Why not wait for a more 
fitting opportunity ? 

He finally decides not to make the disclosure until 
morning. 

All that night he wrestles with the problem so unex- 
pectedly thrust upon him. Shall he obtain the money 
for Ralph, and thus defraud Gertrude? Or shall he 
let him suffer the consequences of his guilt ? Then he 
thinks of the dear invalid mother, to whom such a 
shock might prove fatal, and the great desire to shield 
her overshadows all other .considerations. 

In the morning Gertrude, who expects a dear friend 
from St. Paul on the noon train, is so carried away 


86 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS, 


b\^ plans for the coming weeks that her husband can- 
not find courage to tell her, and before he is quite 
aware of his own intentions he is on his way to the 
bank to procure the money. 

“But remember, Ralph/’ he says on handing it to 
him, “only the thought of our mother’s feeble condi- 
tion has persuaded me to do this for you. Think of 
her when next you are tempted.” 

“Do not fear, Charles, you shall never regret the 
great kindness you have shown me to-day.” 

And the brothers part, the one heart lightened, 
while the other has assumed a burden which cannot 
eavsily be cast aside. 

Six weeks have passed since the palace doors were 
closed, drabbled and weather-beaten draperies disap- 
peared from doors and windows, and Sioux City 
and her people returned to a normal state of exist- 
ence. Indian summer, the most delightful portion of 
the year, has come and gone, and the bleak November 
sky and chill autumn winds whistling through leaf- 
less branches give us a foretaste of winter. 

During all these weeks Mr. Pirie has not revealed 
the unhappy secret to his wife, and the only plea we 
can make in his behalf is his great desire to defend 
her. While her friend remained and all her surround- 
ings combined to make her supremely happ\% it 
seemed impossible to say aught that might cause a 
ripple of anxiety to cross that sunny countenance. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 87 

and having been put off' so long it became more diffi- 
cult to tell her. 

And now that Gertrude is deprived of the smiles of 
nature and the alltirements of the holiday season 
she begins to realize that some strange influence has 
entered her Eden. A vague, nameless something per- 
vades the atmosphere. She feels it, but cannot define 
it. She does not confess even to herself that Charles 
has changed, and yet she knows that while he is as 
tender and in every way as thoughtful and solicitous 
of her welfare as formerly, he is not quite the same. 

But the keenest intuition cannot reveal to her the 
barrier between them, or make known the sorrowful 
fact that the wrong her husband has done her is grad- 
ually causing him to shrink from her; that by de- 
grees her little acts of kindness only add to his 
remorse, and that there are moments when her very 
presence is torture to him. 

As the weeks go by his evident uneasiness no longer 
escapes her. Gertrude sees her husband drifting 
away from her but is powerless to stay the growing 
alienation, as a word or even a look of inquiry on her 
part invariably has the effect of sending him from 
her. Little by little the old confidingness is vanish- 
ing and it becomes difficult for them to sustain a con- 
versation. Day by day the gloom deepens, and Ger- 
trude, looking on in tremulous anxiety, can do or say 
nothing to recall him from the sunless, sorrowful 
state into which he is drifting. 

One da^q as Christmas is approaching, a gentleman 


88 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


calls to see Mrs. Carlyle. Glancing at his card she 
sees the name of a young man who is employed in 
Mr. Pirie^s office, bnt with whom she herself has but 
a slight acquaintance. 

Wondering why he should desire to see her she 
hastens down and he at once makes known the object 
of his call by saying : 

“I trust you will pardon this intrusion, Mrs. Car- 
lyle, when you learn that I have come in behalf of 
Mr. Pirie, your son-in-law.’’ 

“Nothing serious, I hope, Mr. Ingram ? ” she says, 
smiling. 

He looks into her calm face and hesitates, uncertain 
how to proceed, then says, somewhat abruptly: 

“Pardon me, Mrs. Carlyle, but how long is it since 
you last saw him ? ” 

“It must be fully three weeks, the longest interval 
in which he has not called since their marriage.” 

“ And your daughter — has she said nothing to you 
of his — of his present condition ? ” 

“Gertrude comes down very seldom since the cold 
weather vSet in. But you alarm me, Mr. Ingram ; 
what has befallen our dear Charles? ” 

“I scarcely know how to begin, now that I find 
you are not in the least prepared for what I have to 
say. For some reason, quite unknown to me, your 
son-in-law is suffering great distress of mind, and 
during the past two weeks his abstraction has be- 
come so marked as to interfere very seriously with his 
business. He comes to the office punctually every 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


89 


morning but never remains longer than half an hour. 
Then he returns just before it is time to close the 
books, and after looking through them uneasily, goes 
home ; and I have learned that during his absence he 
takes long, solitary walks into the country. He has 
been seen several miles beyond Morningside, and 
again in other directions, at one time as far out as 
Hinton, which must be nearly fifteen miles. Natur- 
all}^ this unusual exercise is beginning to make itself 
felt, and last evening on his return he sank into a 
chair completely exhausted, and unable to go home 
until quite fate. Without his knowledge I jumped 
onto the back end of the car he took and saw him 
enter his house, but he has not been down to-day and 
I fear is worse.’’ 

“ My poor children,” comes tremulously from Mrs. 
Carlyle. “So this has been thecauseof their absence. 
It is very kind of you, Mr. Ingram, to interest your- 
self so in poor Charles’ behalf. I will go out at once 
to see how he is ; or perhaps I had better see the doc- 
tor first and prepare him with the information you 
have given me.” 

“That is chiefly whylcame to you,” says the young 
man, rising and walking to the door, “as doubtless 
it will be essential that he should know all. And now, 
Mrs. Carlyle, I trust you will not hesitate to call on 
me if there is anything I can do for you.” 

Then, with a graceful wave of his hat, Mr. Ingram 
bids her good-morning and departs. 

When a little later Mrs. Carlyle has an interview 


90 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


with Dr. D she is surprised to learn that Gertrude 

had summoned him early in the morning. 

“I found Mr. Pirie very weak/^ says that good 
man, ‘‘but was unable to discover the cause of his 
prostration. He was evidently annoyed at my com- 
ing and seemed unwilling to talk, while his wife was 
equally reticent.” 

When Mrs. Carlyle has told him all, he adds, in a 
meditative way : 

‘‘I feared it was something of that nature, but had 
hoped it might not be quite so serious.^ If you are 
going out soon I will give you some powders to quiet 
his nerves and perhaps cause him to sleep. He needs 
rest and quiet above all things, and our great aim 
must be to keep him at home as much as possible.” 

Arriving at the house, Mrs. Carlyle is admitted by 
Gertrude, who vainly endeavors to smile through her 
tears. But the former, crushing her child to her, says 
tenderW : 

“ My poor darling, why did you not confide in your 
mother? ” 

Nothing more is needed. The torrent so long kept 
under control gushes forth, and in heartbroken tones 
Gertrude tells her mother how miserable she has been 
during the past weeks. 

“And, mama, now that I have had the courage to 
send for the doctor, Charles refuses to take his medi- 
cine, or to remain at home. He complains of a pain 
in his head, and says he feels much better in the open 
air.” 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


91 


A few days later Gertrude, going into the library, 
finds her mother and the doctor engaged in earnest 
conversation, but on her entrance Mrs. Carlyle says 
to her daughter : 

“Gertrude, the doctor desires to speak to you, and 
Oh, my child, try to think that all will befor the best.’’ 

Looking up in terrified solicitude, Gertrude exclaims : 

“ Wh}^ doctor, Charles is not going to die, is he? ” 

“No, 0 no ; so far as I can judge there is no imme- 
diate danger in that direction, but — ” 

“ But what, doctor ? What can the awful calamity 
be which you and mama fear so much ? ” 

She seems so entirely unprepared for the gloom to 
come that the kind-hearted doctor is quite at a loss 
how to form a reply. But after a moment’s hesita- 
tion he says : 

“Could you, Mrs. Pirie, for his sake, make up your 
mind to be separated from him for awhile? It might 
be but a short time, when he could return to you 
fully restored.’’ 

The dreadful words force themselves into her be- 
wildered brain, a light breaks in upon her mind, and 
she knows the truth. Yes, a thousand little incidents, 
hitherto unnoticed, seem now to proclaim the awful 
truth. 

Oh, horrible thought ! how it clutches at her heart- 
strings, scarcely allowing her to breathe. In the bit- 
terness of her soul she tells herself — better, far better 
had the verdict been that he must die. Though 
bereft of the power of speech, her haggard face attests 


92 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


the struggle she is undergoing. In vain the doctor 
endeavors to convince her that she has every reason 
to hope for a speedy cure. She only shakes her head 
despairingly. No one similarly afflicted, of whom 
she has any knowledge, has ever returned, and how 
can she hope for a miracle ? 

“Oh! doctor, doctor,^’ she moans, “how can it be 
possible, my gentle, loving Charles insane? I have 
always supposed that such are to be dreaded, ab- 
horred, and only gazed at through grated windows.’^ 

“My dear Mrs. Pirie, we no longer live in an age 
when the mentally sick are bound in chains and incar- 
cerated behind iron bars. Their malady is now given 
the same consideration as other diseases. Do not 
despair, Mrs. Pirie, I assure you your husband will 
have the best of care and medical treatment — far bet- 
ter than we could possibly give him here. Think the 
matter over, however, before you decide, and I will 
call again in the morning to assist you in furthering 
your plans. 

During the remainder of that day Gertrude, in utter 
hopelessness, abandons herself to her grief, but on 
the following morning announces her intention of 
going with Charles, and that evening the unhappy 
young couple, accompanied by Mrs. Carlyle and the 
doctor, leave Sioux City for M . 

We will not dwell upon the sorrowful journey, 
throughout which Charles remains silent and Ger- 
trude, for whom hope seems frozen, is wrapped in a 
sort of dumb despair. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


93 


Arriving at the pretty little town a carriage is pro- 
cured to take them to the hospital, some two miles 
out. Long before reaching it the large, plain building 
looms in sight. And now Gertrude, trembling and 
shuddering, creeps, closer to her mother. Oh ! to 
think that the one object dearer to her than life will 
soon be confined amid those walls. Yes, her darling 
husband, and with him her own bleeding heart, will 
ere long be buried, not as other people are buried, in 
peaceful death, but living and quivering in anquish. 
And yet she sits here so quietly. Why does she not 
rush at the horses’ heads and cause them to flee in 
the opposite direction ? What awful power is^ keep- 
ing her down and allowing those gentle animals to 
trot them quietly to their doom ? 

At last the cruel ride is ended, and Gertrude, filled 
with a nameless horror, is led up the broad stairway 
and into a neatl^^ furnished parlor. Then follows a 
consultation in the doctor’s office, papers are signed, 
and before the two so soon to be parted are quite 
aware that the time has arrived, they are called upon 
to say farewell. 

Poor Gertrude, the few words of encouragement 
she had hoped to repeat on leaving Charles forsake 
her entirely, and with a wail of unutterable sorrow 
she flings herself into his arms. 

His sad eyes fill with tenderness, and with patient 
desolation in his tone he breathes a heartbroken adieu. 
The clinging arms are gently removed, and Gertrude, 
weeping and moaning, is led back to the carriage. 


94 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


After the sad parting of husband and wife Mr. Pirie 
is at once taken to his room and given an opiate, 
which he no longer refuses to take. With nothing to 
fear from sleep, now that Gertrude cannot hear him, 
and with nothing more to hope for, why should he 
not sleep ? And with the same feverish intensity in 
which he had previously guarded against it, he now 
hopes that the draught may for a time drown the 
pain and misery which are consuming him. 

“ My Gertrude! my Gertrude! if you knew all that 
your poor Charles is suffering our partingmight have 
been even more bitter. Oh ! my darling, to think I 
have brought all this sorrow upon you — you for 
whom I would gladly die rather than cause one single 
pang. But what is this strange numbness that is 
creeping through me ? Can it be that I shall know 
what it is to sleep again ? Gertrude ! Gertrude ! you 
are so far away. Shall I never — never — see — you — 
again ? ’ ’ 

At last the patient sufferer sleeps, and those whis~ 
pered forebodings so long echoing through his brain 
for a time at least cease their murmuring. 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


95 


CHAPTER X. 

The physician who was summoned to Mrs. Vaughn 
on her arrival at Liverpool predicted that it might 
be several weeks before she could leave her room. 
But weeks have lengthened into months and still she 
lingers at the hotel, barely strong enough to take the 
short morning walk prescribed for her. All the care 
and attention which wealth can procure she has had, 
but .scarcely more than this since her dear friend was 
called away to a sister ^s sick-bed. 

These few months have wrought a great transfor- 
mation in our Beatrice, who is no longer the self- 
sustained, imperturbable being of former days, but a 
victim of remorse. Her expression is now less cold 
and more beseeching, and the beautiful pale face, 
appealing to us in its mute eloquence, may well enlist 
our sympathy. 

Before her is a copy of a Sioux City paper. In that 
far away land, where she is seemingl}^ abandoned 
and forsaken, this dear familiar sheet comes to her 
like a friend and speaks to her of home, and this 
morning it tells her that Clarence has returned from 
the Pacific coast and reopened the silent house on 
Rose Hill. Her heart beats violently at this announce- 
ment. Can it be that he is planning for her return ? 
But no; she will not allow herself to think that he 
would take her back, else why had he never written ? 
Surely he must know of her great loss. 


96 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


Twice she has put aside pride to ask hisforgivehess^ 
but on each occasion the penetential appeals, written 
less in ink than in tears, were reduced to ashes. 

Oh, why had she hardened her heart against him? 
she asks herself again and again, and her self-reproach 
is rendered more bitter b}^ the memory of his great 
forbearance. Never had he crossed her with an un- 
kind word. 

One hope still remains to her. It is barely possible 
that he does not know where she is, and in that case 
she will learn on her arrival at Minneapolis whether 
he has instigated a search for her. With this thought 
to keep up her fast failing courage, she makes all 
arrangements to return at once, though the doctor 
advises her to wait until she is stronger. 

The long, weary voyage proves a constant reminder 
of her recent affliction, and many times her distorted 
fancy brings to view, as if in living reality, all the 
horrors of that dreadful night. 

Arriving at New York she is confined to her room a 
week before recovering sufficiently to continue her 
journey. Then, with alternate fears and hopes, she 
takes the train for the west. How she longs, yet 
dreads, to reach her destination ? Will the revelation 
there crown or quench all her hopes? Poor, forlorn 
woman ! She is destined to meet with the bitterest 
disappointment. Her husband has not been heard 
from, and for several weeks she is prostrated, physi- 
cally and mentally. When finally able to rise she 
glides ghost-like through the old house, refusing to 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


97 


see any one, or to go be^^ond her own door. 

In vain she struggles against the phantasies which 
threaten to govern and mislead her. Can we wonder, 
when one by one earth’s joys have flown, when faith 
in God’s goodness seems but a mockery, that life has 
become unbearable ? 

But she longs once more to see her husband, and to 
this end disguises herself and goes to Sioux City. 

Applying at Mrs. Carlyle’s for a room, she is gra- 
ciously received and not recognized. Who would for 
a momentthinkof com paring this gentle, sad-featured 
old lady with the former queen of Rose Hill ? 

In a few days she gains an entrance to her former 
home, and at last finds herself in the dear familiar 
drawing-rooms, which have been little changed. Here 
are her paintings, and other evidences of her own 
artistic achievement, and here, too, is the little cab- 
inet which has been hers since childhood. Turning 
the key she finds its contents undisturbed. In her 
nervousness she touches a hidden spring, and a secret 
panel sliding back reveals a sealed envelope addressed 
to her husband . Instantly she remembers everything 
in connection with this letter, her hasty disposal of, 
and vain search for it, and later her unreasonable 
silence even after Clarence had informed her of Helen’s 
lost sheet of manuscript. 

So completely are her thoughts carried back by 
that distant event that she fails to hear the outer 
door open. A moment later, however, hearing a step 
in the hall, she hastily closes the cabinet and, with 


98 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


the letter still in her hand, glides swiftly across the 
room. She has barely time to conceal herself before 
her husband enters. 

In another moment the room is brilliantly lighted, 
the curtains are drawn, and Mr. Vaughn becomes 
absorbed in his evening paper. Beatrice, crouching 
in her narrow retreat, is well nigh overcome by this 
sudden reminder of the old days. Never has her van- 
ished happiness seemed so priceless as at this moment, 
when it tauntingly comes so near as just to elude her 
grasp. Surely earth has but few trials more bitter 
than the one now experienced by this woman who 
finds herself an exile in her own home. 

How she longs to reveal herself and beg Clarence 
humbly to forgive all and take her back to favor and 
happiness. Then, as if in mockery, a sudden wave of 
memory carries her back to their last interview. 
Once more she sees those eyes, grave and candid, yet 
with something impenetrable in their depths. Again 
she hears the words : Remember, Beatrice, if of your 
own volition you leave me, we are parted forever.” 
The momentary tenderness" is gone, and pride, with 
renewed vigor returns. No ! not for worlds would 
she incur another rebuke from those lips. 

But now Clarence, apparently dissatisfied with his 
paper, puts it down, and rising, walks slowly to the 
window, then turning, comes directly towards her. 
She holds her breath as he brushes by the draper}' 
which enfolds her. Slowly, with bowed head and 
hands clasped behind him, he continues walking to 


99 




LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 

the end of the room, then in the same absorbed man- 
ner retraces his steps, this time coming so close to 
Beatrice that but for his abstraction he must have 
heard her heart beating. 

Oh, if she could but know that at this moment 
he is brooding over those last words he spoke to her ; 
that he does not know she is among the living, but 
has been led to suppose that she, too, went beneath 
the waves! But she does not know, and when a 
little later Mr. Vaughn is called from the room, she 
passes out noiselessly^ and, going rapidly toward the 
east, does not slacken her steps until she finds herself 
in a lonely spot on the banks of the Floyd. 

Looking back over the great city she wonders if 
amid all those gems of light there is another heart so 
miserable as hers. Just above her on the hill is that 
other city, where all is tranquil, cold and still, and a 
shiver passes over her as she thinks she will soon be 
numbered with the sleepers. 

Now, Beatrice, be brave ! Be firm ! One plunge and 
all the strife and sorrow shall have ended ; only one 
little struggle and you will be at rest. But why does 
she hesitate? Ah! why ? At this moment, when the 
end seems so near, her soul, suddenly aroused, recoils 
with shuddering horror from the consequences of so 
dreadful a deed, and for the first time Beatrice realizes 
that there is a life beyond ; that she can never flee 
from her own existence, but must live on and on for- 
ever. But Oh ! must she always grope hopelessly and 
alone, with the darkness of God’s wrath upon her? 


100 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


In her anguish she cries aloud, ‘‘Clarence, Clarence, 
save me from myself! Save me from the horror 
which is dragging me down, down, to the dark un- 
known. Oh, Clarence, Clarence, do you know that 
your Beatrice is lost — lost ? 

In her excitement she crushes the letter which is 
still in her hand, and this so far takes her mind from 
herself that she dimly feels it should not be left for 
strangers to read. By the aid of a distant electric 
light she removes the envelope and tears her hus- 
band’s name in tiny shreds. She is about to do the 
same with the rest when these words, flashing out 
from the page before her, come thrilling into her 
soul : 

“To you who have always lived in the sunshine of 
God’s love; have never, through your own folh^, felt 
yourselves drawn from his presence and cast into 
utter darkness, the following lines will have no mean- 
ing. My note of warning and song of triumph are 
only for those who, in recognizing a portra^^al of their 
own experience, may be touched through the electric 
chord of sympathy. Do you know what it is, dear 
sister, to feel that God has forsaken you ? That you 
have forfeited all claim to his love, and that hope 
has fled ? If so, stop this moment and say, ‘ Lord 
Jesus, take me out of this horrible darkness into thine 
own light.’ And the dear Lord, who never refuses 
prayer, will give thee light. It may be but the faint- 
est glimmer at first, so faint that ^-ou can scarcely 
perceive it ; but do not despair, your simple, trusting 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


101 


faith is all that he requires of you, and gradually, as 
you may be able to bear it, you will find the glimmer- 
ing light increasing, until you are surrounded by its 
brilliance — a brilliance which, given at first, would 
have blinded you, and you cannot but exclaim, ‘Is it 
possible that I, even /, dcvserve so much from thee.’ ” 

This is all, but to the hungry, famishing soul of 
Beatrice it is more than life. The ^'cllow, time-worn 
paper slips from her fingers, she drops on her knees, 
and with clasped hands and streaming eyes bows her 
head in wordless prayer. How can she find words 
to give expression to the gratitude, the longing and 
the doubt which at the same time take possession of 
her? Can it be that she, at this moment on the brink 
of the blackest of crimes, might be saved ? Ah, more, 
might even hope to find peace ? 

It is as if the dear Savior, who of yore healed Mary 
Magdaline, were now gazing upon her with tender 
compassion and uttering the words, ^'Thy sins are 
forgiven. Thy faith hath saved thee: go in peace.” 

During the next few minutes Beatrice remains un- 
conscious of time or place ; but finally retracing her 
steps to the room she had planned to leave forever 
she takes up the paper which was to tell of her sudden 
death, and casting it into the flames prays that, as it 
is vanishing, so may her sins be blotted out. Fling- 
ing herself upon the bed she is soon lost in the first 
sweet sleep she has known for months. 

Thus has arisen from its ashes and been fulfilled the 
prayer so fervently made by Helen. Not only has she 


102 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS, 


saved a sinner from despair, but that sinner had been! 
her bitterest enemy. 

On awaking the next morning Beatrice finds to her 
dismay that her ph\"sical strength has reached its 
limit. When she makes an effort to rise her limbs 
refuse to obey her. She had hoped to return to Min- 
neapolis at once, but now it seems she must remain 
here helpless and be recognized. The thought is un- 
bearable. Once more she exerts all the strength at 
her command, only to fall back in a swoon. 

Somewhat later Kitty , the chamber-maid, raps, and 
hearing no response enters, Beatrice having forgotten 
to lock the door. The girl puts down her broom and 
dust-pan, and has almost reached the bed, when she 
stops short as if rooted to the spot. The grey wig 
and glasses are gone, Beatrice’s long, golden hair 
sweeps the pillow, while her beautiful features seem 
chiseled in marble. 

Little wonder that the credulous Kitty imagines 
the old lady has suddenly become a celestial being. 
Fleeing in terror from the room and rushing down- 
stairs and into the parlor, where Helen sits reading, 
she exclaims : 

'‘0, Miss Helen, Miss Helen. I didn’t know the 
Lord changed ’em so quick! ” 

“ Why, Kitty, what have you seen to frighten you 
so ? ” 

“An angel, Aliss Helen; a real angel, all but the 
wings, leastwise I couldn’t see them for the pillows.” 

And this, with the exception of “the blue room,” is 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 103 

all the information to be gained from the terror- 
stricken girl. 

Mrs. Carlyle being ont, Helen goes at once to see 
what has happened. Kitty implores her not to go in 
alone, and then stealthily creeps after her to the foot 
of the stairs. 

When Helen reaches the room, Beatrice has suffi- 
ciently revived to open her bewildered eyes. The 
former, recognizing her, exclaims : 

“Wh3^, Mrs. Vaughn, where have you come from? 
I thought — I thought — ” 

“ What did you think ? ” comes feebl}" from the bed. 

“ Why, Mrs. Vaughn, we all supposed you had been 
drowned ! ” 

At this announcement Beatrice endeavors to sit up, 
but failing in this, asks hurriedly : 

“And does Clarence think I am dead? ’’ 

“Why, certainly, Mrs. Vaughn; 3^ou did not sup- 
pose — 

But she cannot finish the sentence. She has always 
thought there was something strange about their 
separation, but not knowing the true state of affairs 
will not tell Beatrice what she surmised. But the 
latter does not intend to keep anything from Helen, 
so handing her the long lost manuscript she asks if 
she recognizes it, and then tells her all. 

When the narrative is concluded Helen is for a mo- 
ment lost in thought, then recovering herself, offers 
to bring the invalid some nourishment. On going 
down, however, she orders the toast and tea sent 


104 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


up and starts at once for Mr. Vaughn’s office. 

In a short time she leaves him at his wife’s door. 
He enters noiselessly, but before reaching the bed- 
stops as Kitty had done^ for Beatrice, leaning baek 
with eyes closed and hands folded, seems to have 
passed into that last peaceful slumber, beyond his 
power to awaken. Involuntarily her name bursts 
from his lips. She opens her eyes, and seeing Clar- 
ence, sits up, and imploringly holds out both hands. 
In an instant hefolds the tremblingform in his strong 
arms and kisses the pale, quivering lips. 

“And can you really forgive me?” she gasps at 
last. 

“Only get well, my darling/’ he responds, “and I 
ask nothing more.” 

And think not, you who do not know our noble 
Helen, that one pang of jealousy entered her heart as 
she hastened to apprise the man once so dear to her 
that his wife had risen from the dead. 

No, Helen is not jealous. She would not now ex- 
change her lot for any other. The beautiful thoughts 
to which she gives such pure and noble expression fill 
all her life with peace and contentment. They come 
as does the sunshine from above, and prove a con- 
tinual source of surprise and delight. All that is 
ennobling in her aspiring soul finds its way into her 
writings, which possess that indefinable something, 
that nameless charm whereby she strikes a respon- 
sive chord in others and appeals to their loftiest sen- 
timents. By following the monitions of an inner 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


105 


voice she is enabled to illumine her pages with oeca- 
sional gleams of light which reveal to her readers all 
that is best in their natures, and gives them a truer 
sense of the nearness and goodness of God. 

And Beatriee, with all her falser self cast aside, and 
the hidden tenderness brought forth, bids fair to 
beeome, in very truth, the noble woman her husband 
had long sinee predieted she might be if but that 
slumbering soul were awakened. Verily, 

“ God moves in a mysterious way. 

His wonders to perform. 


106 




LIGHT OUT OF DARKJvESS. 


CHAPTER XL 

When Charles Pirie has been at M three months 

his brother Ralph calls at the hospital and asks per- 
mission to see. him. On the way to his room the 
attending physician says, in response to Ralph ^s 
earnest inquiries : 

“ Your brother’s case puzzles me exceedingly, and is 
one of the saddest I have known in many years’ ex- 
perience. At first we were more hopeful of his recov- 
ery, but of late he has brooded more and more, and 
unless something can be done to rouse him from the 
melancholy state into which he is sinking I fear his 
physical strength will succumb to the great mental 
strain. He is the gentlest patient we have, never in 
any way causing us the least annoyance, and desiring 
only to be left alone.” 

By this time they have passed through several cor- 
ridors and wards, and in one of the latter, where 
there are numerous patients, the doctor stops in front 
of a partially closed door and pointing to a solitary 
figure within, says : 

” That is the way he spends the greater part of his 
time, brooding, always brooding.” 

Ralph, looking in, sees Charles sitting on the edge 
of the bed, his elbows resting upon his knees and his 
face hidden in his hands. 

”The patients have learned to leave him alone for 
the most part,” continues the doctor, “though they 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


107 


all like him, as he is kindness itself when he can be 
interested, sometimes reading to those confined to 
their rooms, and through various little acts winning 
their affection. And it is at such times that I feel 
hopeful for him.’’ 

“Do you think my visit will be detrimental to him 
in any way?” 

“It is difficult to say. It may be the means of tak- 
ing his thoughts from himself, though his wife has 
frequently written to know if she can come, and he 
seems to shrink from the very possibility of meeting 
her.” 

“My poor brother,” says Ralph, and in ^the next 
moment he is kneeling beside the drooping form, and, 
with tears streaming down his cheeks, gazing up 
into the sadly altered face. 

“Charles, Charles, do you not know me?” he 
pleads, as the other, somewhat startled, shrinks back. 

“Ralph, is it you ? ” the pale lips finally syllable, in 
a tone so changed from the old familiar ring that 
Ralph, completely unmanned, sobs out : 

“Oh, my poor brother, can you ever forgive me? ” 

“Hush, Ralph, hush; do not upbraid yourself. You 
are not to blame because I was too cowardly to tell 
her. There is the bitter sting. Gertrude is not the 
woman to bemoan a few thousand dollars, but I 
wronged her, grievously wronged her, in keeping it 
secret. I see it all now, but it is too late.” 

“ Charles, it is not too late. Oh, if you could know 
how she pines for you. She would gladly, willingly 


108 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


forgive anj^thing if you would but comeback to her.’' 

“No, no, you can never convince me of anything 
else. It is too late, too late. What do you suppose 
she thought o^ me when the payment on her home 
came due, and the money she expected to find in the 
bank was missing? ” 

“It was not missing, Charles. I was so fortunate, 
soon after you left, as to sell that land I considered 
so worthless in Dakota, and realized enough to settle 
your account and leave a small balance for her imme- 
diate requirements.” 

But the look of pleased surprise, so eagerly expected, 
does not come to dispel the settled sorrow in those 
dear, mournful eyes, and with bitter self-reproach 
Charles responds : 

“Still, that does not alter my act in the matter,” 
then, with a touch of tenderness, he adds, “though I 
am glad to know she will not lose her home.” 

“ But what good will it do her? She will never go 
back to it unless you return. Oh, Charles, give up 
your foolish scruples and come home. Think how 
happy you can make mother by letting her see you 
once more.” 

“Poor old mother, how many times her dear patient 
face haunts me. Oh, Ralph, why must it be my lot 
to bring sorrow to the very ones whom I would 
shield from all harm ? And now I shall never, never, 
see them again, but must die here miserably and 
alone.” 

In spite of ever^^ effort on Ralph’s part to soothe 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


109 


and reason, his words fail to bring conviction or 
comfort. The sufferer seems powerless to rise from 
the depth of despair into which he has fallen, and his 
mind, still shrouded in that mysterious gloom, re- 
mains a prey to the most distressing thoughts. 

At last, fearing that this interruption has been any- 
thing but beneficial to his brother, Ralph reluctanth^ 
says farewell and paSvSes out. 

And what of our poor Gertrude, to whom no gleam 
of hope has come during this trying interval of three 
months ? 

She is still utterly crushed by her sorrow, and one 
day when her mother is endeavoring as usual to 
console her, she says, with a touch of bitterness in 
her voice : 

‘‘Mama, even you, who know me better than I 
know myself, cannot realize the torture that has been 
mine in the past three months. I do not know how 
I have kept my heart from breaking. Many times in 
the night I see his dear, haggard face peering through 
a small grated window or hear him imploring to be 
released from his heavy chains.^’ 

“My dear child, you must not think of Charles as 
a prisoner. He has as much freedom as he, in his 
present state, desires. Then, too, he has youth and 
• strength in his favor, and, as you know, the doctor 
predicts that recovery may be as sudden as was his 
illness.’^ 


110 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS, 


But Gertrude shakes her head despairingly. 

“ No ; I cannot believe that he will ever come back.’^ 

“Gertrude^ my child, will you not try to have a 
little more faith in God’s goodness? If you will but 
trust him, he will not forsake you.” 

“But, mama, why should he torture us by reveal- 
ing that which he intends to withhold — why let us 
taste of happiness which is never to be ours? ” 

“ My child, m^^' child, cease your repining. Be hum- 
ble and submissive and you will find the Lord most 
gracious. Have you not alwat^s discovered in every 
trial heretofore that all was for the best ? ” 

“ Yes, but oh, this is so very different. There is no 
looking beyond it. How can I ever hope to be happy 
again ? ” 

My poor Gertrude! take courage. The sun will 
surely shine again, and you may be all the happier 
for its brief eclipse. But see, there is May come to 
take you for a drive. Do not refuse her this time ; she 
is so anxious to do something for you if you will only 
permit it.” 

“Yes,” answers Gertrude, tremulously, “I realize 
that I am making you all miserable with my sor- 
row.” 

Then, seized with a new impulse, she steps to the 
window and nods assent to May, who is looking up. 

In a short time the friends drive away and Mrs. 
Carlyle looks after them with a sinking heart. 

That night Gertrude, unable to sleep, rises from 
her bed and sits by the window. Again we see her 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


Ill 


under the moon’s rays, but not quite the same Ger- 
trude as when on that June evening Charles first 
folded her in his arms. There is now a settled sorrow 
in the dear brown eyes and a great longing in the 
aching heart. 

Poor Gertrude, with her conflicting emotions and 
contradictory impulses, is not panoplied against this 
withering sorrow, and in the depths of that intense 
inner nature, where the germs of the spiritual have 
been implanted, another growth has suddenly sprung 
up, crowding fatally upon the faith of her childhood. 

Why had she been punished in this way ? Why had 
her father’s career been closed at the moment of full- 
est expansion and unfolding? These are questions 
which she cannot reconcile with a iust and merciful 
God. 

But in her better moments Gertrude repents bit- 
terly, and now as she looks out into the peaceful 
night, the dark fears, the doubts and questionings 
vanish before its all-pervading influence. Surely he 
who has formed this canopy of blue and gold for his 
children’s delight would not inflict unnecessary pain. 
But what is the lesson she must learn before the 
shadow can be lifted ? 

Involuntarily she drops on her knees and a prayer 
comes to her lips. This is followed by others, each 
becoming more and more infused with the one earn- 
est appeal for her husband’s recovery. In this moment 
of tenderness she thinks only of his welfare, and with 
sudden ferver she pleads : Oh, Father, if he can never 


112 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


get well, wilt thou not release him from his suffering 
and take him to thyself? 

She is almost startled at the eagerness with which 
she finds herself imploring for that which at one time 
would have seemed a death blow. But no sooner has 
she made the plea than, as if this had been the sacri- 
fice required of her, there comes to that troubled 
heart a calm and deep repose, an inward assurance 
that somewhere, sometime, love’s dream shall be ful- 
filled. Earthly joys and earthly fears fall into insig- 
nificance and, sustained b}^ divine love, Gertrude at 
last learns the sweetest of all truths. Though the 
clouds are dark and threatening, faith has pierced the 
gloom and revealed the light beyond. 

On awaking in the morning Gertrude is not de- 
prived of the soothing thoughts which came to her 
the night before. All through the forenoon that 
strange but restful mood does not forsake her, and 
hence it happens that when, a little after luncheon, a 
telegram is brought to the door, it is Mrs. Carlyle 
who trembles with apprehension, while Gertrude, 
coming up to her, says in atone so subdued, so gentle, 
that even her mother fails to recognize it : 

“ Read, mama, do not fear. I am prepared, though 
I know that God has answered my prayer and my 
poor Charles is dead — is dead ! ” 

But in the next moment the old Gertrude, fully 
restored, is frantically kissing her mother and beg- 
ging to know when the next train leaves, for the 
telegram announces that “Mr. Pirie is much im- 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


113 


proved, and desires to see his wife.'’ 

^‘Mama, mama, isn’t it strange, always when the 
clouds seem the very blackest, God suddenly scatters 
them and gives us more sunshine than ever before.” 

Mrs. Carlyle, fearing a reaction from this exalted 
mood when Gertrude sees Charles’ altered appear- 
ance, endeavors to prepare her for the meeting, and 
then, having decided to accompany her, the two 
ladies hastily don their traveling apparel and arrive 
at the depot just in time to take the east bound train. 

While they are speeding along let us return to the 
previous evening, and enter Mr. Pirie’s room. A 
young physician recently added to the staff of the 
institution has just passed out and something he said 
has left Charles in a deeper reverie than usual. 

With intuitive penetration this young doctor has 
read the yearnings of that loving heart, and like a 
glimmering light in a darkened night he comes to 
Charles in his hour of hopelessness. Occasionally in 
the evening, when the patients have retired, he steps 
into the little room and with marvelous tact draws 
him into conversation, tells him what is transpiring 
in the great world without, and in various ways 
allows him to feel the touch of human vSympathy. 

To-night, however, the topic under discussion had 
a personal bearing. A letter was received that day 
from Gertrude asking permission to see her husband, if 
only at a distance, and it was with the hope of exerting 
a beneficial influence in behalf of the poor, stricken wife 
that the young physician spent an hour with Charles 


114 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 


before retiring. When the latter has been alone but a 
short time he is roused from his deep study hy the blend- 
ed strains of a soft tremulous soprano and rich, well- 
modulated contralto. Softly, soothing W the tones 
float up to him, not in operatic airs, but sweet, tender 
melodies, such as spring direct from the heart and 
appeal to our inmost being — which carry us beyond 
ourselves and bid us hope. 

As Charles listens he is taken back to the time when 
he first knew Gertrude, when she and Helen sang 
just as these two are now singing. How he had 
loved her then, and how entirely he had been hers 
ever since? And Gertrude — did she not manifest an 
equal devotion? and yet he doubts her willingness to 
forgive. 

Still, those sweet strains come floating through the 
window, his spirit yielding more and more to their 
gracious influence. By and by he experiences a sense 
of choking and a peculiar sensation about his eyes, 
and before he quite understands the meaning of it a 
tear, escaped from its long imprisonment, drops upon 
his hand. Then the eyes, so long tearless, fill again, 
and ere long the lonely man is quietly weeping. 

The low, sweet tones finally hush into silence, but 
still he weeps, and through these precious, priceless 
tears — these messengers from heaven — Charles feels 
the heeling touch of God’s pity. All the pent-up feel- 
ings which have tortured him for so many months 
are swept into the tide of anguish. A strange, mys- 
teriotis power sweeps o’er his soul, and for the first 


LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS. 115 

time since his arrival he is filled with an overwhelm- 
ing desire to see his wife and open his heart to her. 

A week later we find Mr. Pirie in his own room at 
home. Gertrude, on an ottoman beside him, is look- 
ing up into the dear, honest eyes which no longer turn 
from hers. 

“ Dear Charles, do you know how completely happy 
I am in having you back once more? ” 

“And did you really miss me so very much, my 
Gertrude? ’’ her husband asks, with the smile she had 
never hoped to see again. “I have often feared it 
might have been better if you had never known me.^^ 
“ But 3"OU must never, never think so again. I have 
been fully recompensed for all the suffering, and be- 
sides — “ Here a serious look comes into Gertrude’s 
face and she tells him of her experience on the night 
before receiving the telegram, and concludes, rever- 
ently : “ Dear Charles, I was so wicked and rebellious, 
and still the moment God found me willing to look 
up and trust he gave me such a sense of rest and 
peace as I had never known before. And now he has 
brought you back. Surely my cup of joy is running 
over. But, Oh, Charles,” she adds, in a lower tone, 
“help me never, never to forget the lesson.” 

His head comes down slowly until it touches hers, 
and thus silently and submissively they consecrate 
their hearts anew to their Heavenly Father. 


“ Behc^ld, I have refined thee, but not with silver ; I fiave chosen thee 
in the furnace of affliction.” 


■y 
































